Digitalis (Satin Roses v2)
by SunnyWallflower
Summary: Life isn't going the way Corrine, or her parents, planned. After a food-related incident, Corrine finds herself working for one of the top shops in the world, Strata. With her life suffering from the past, Corrine guards herself. When opportunities arise, does Corrine choose to risk her pride and, more importantly, her heart? Will she discover parts of herself that she never knew?
1. How to Live without a Soul

**EJK: I wasn't lying when I said that the rewrite would be up. Also, I decided not to write an author's note in the beginning of a chapter unless it was necessary. For example, I'm still using parts of the original text that I'm fond of and my response to reviews will be posted at the end. Enjoy.**

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><p>I could hear it in her voice. It was filled with regret and hollowness. That tone, I've heard it so many times, I've come to recognize it in an instant.<p>

"I'm so sorry, Corrine." Sandra Parkinson, the buyer for Époque, spoke softly, her spindly fingers running over the smooth silk of the blush pink, brocade blazer I made with a modest peplum along the hem. Her eyes, lined with crow's feet along the corners, ran over my entire collection for one last time.

Facing back towards me, Sandra couldn't even bear to smile wearily, her voice gliding silkily through the empty space between us, "We're simply too full. Our stockroom is filled to the brim and…with this economy, we can't afford to exceed it the limit. What you've created here is simply wonderful and flawlessly crafted but I can't, for the time being, afford to add it to our stocks. Corrine, I'm sorry, I truly am."

I could barely speak from the heavy disappointment that weighed on my shoulders, my voice was throaty and hoarse, "Of course, I understand. Times are hard and you can't please everyone." Sandra handed over the large shopping bag filled with my garments. Hitching my oversized purse over my shoulder, I offered my hand in goodwill, "Thank you for your time, Sandra."

"Oh," Sandra's tired eyes brightened as she dug around her pockets for a few seconds, coming up with a tiny, beige card of some sort made from expensive cardstock. She handed it to me, explaining, "There's a flagship store that had opened two years ago called Strata, I'm sure you've heard of it, that Époque supplies and I know that they're in need of more diverse brands. That's the phone number of their buyer cum manager, her name is Grace Wright, just call her and tell her that Sandy gave you the number."

"Thanks." I felt the smile on face spread out wearily; at least Sandra cared unlike some previous buyers who hadn't even pretended to be sorry.

Great, my life was just great. It's just one giant carnival, a defunct one with creepy clowns and a broken merry-go-round. Stepping out of the warm, cozy building, I smacked my forehead in aggravation. Work. Okay, let's calm down now, my shift starts in twenty minutes so if I sprint there in my perfectly inappropriate knee length boots I'll make it with five minutes to spare. Fan-fricking-tastic. This day was just going great and then, I had to make a mess of it like always. Who am I kidding?

Tossing my purse and shopping bag off to the side, I hastily tied the required yet much too small black apron onto my tall frame while checking my time. Four fifty-nine, one minute left. _Aw yeah, I rock_, quietly I pumped my fist in victory. Taking my time card, I inserted it into the ancient machine which responded by stamping the time onto it. It's such an ineffectual method of keeping track of an employee's efficiency but my petulant boss, Mr. Withers or Tooth Decay Derry as we, the unworthy plebeians as he calls us, named him.

Leaning over the hostess stand, Libby Smyth, one of my dear friends, smiled knowingly to herself as she watched me bunch my tangled, messy hair into a decent ponytail and she commented cheekily, "In a rush, my worrisome plebeian? Got a marathon of Top Model to watch?"

"Shaddup, plebe. And you know Ms. Jay is fierce despite the whole gender confusion." I countered as I searched my purse for a suitable pair of black flats. Before you ask, it's New York; menial tasks such as walking can become perfectly hellish in heels. After thirty seconds of expertly sifting through the black hole that is my purse, I come up with a pair of orthopedic flats that I thought would be hilariously ironic to wear. Forget karma, irony is a bitch.

"Miss Flynn, see you had the time to deign us with your presence. No more dying aunts I presume?" A snide, sniveling voice crawled its way into my unprepared ears as I strapped on the ugly flats. Peering upwards, I'm confronted by the stocky, greasy haired being that is Tooth Decay Derry, the manager of this fine pseudo-Italian restaurant.

"Actually, my aunt, Irma Magdalene Adouche, isn't feeling well lately. Oh poor, I.M. Adouche, it just tears me apart to think of her debilitating disease." I replied sweetly, holding back the sarcasm in my tone. It was fun to mess with Derry since he spent the majority of the time making my coworkers and I deal with his rude comments and snide manner.

"I.M. Adouche?" As the realization of my joke dawned upon him, Derry grimaced as Libby and a few others giggled.

Bringing his face closer to mine, he grinned condescendingly, his sulfurous breath causing me to inwardly gag. He cocked his head to one side, speaking in the same mock pleasant tone as mine, "It's just that in the past few weeks, I haven't seen you much. I hope it doesn't become a habit."

"Of course not, you know my only priority is to this restaurant." Lying, I rose up, my full height dwarfing his puffed up figure. I wasn't about to explain that the moment my collection is picked up by a buyer that I would flip him the bird and skip the hell out of this hellhole or the fact that I kept making up deceased relatives to cover up my meetings with buyers. He flinched as I stretched out my arm to take a serving tray behind him and I smile innocently.

"Well, it better be, Miss Flynn. Because I'm watching you, if you even slip up once whether it be dropping a cup, like the clumsy giant you are, or spill a drop of water outside of the cup. I will be there. And when I have the pleasure of firing you, I hope you won't make a scene."

Glaring unfazed by the diminutive man's threat, I chuckled derisively, "You better place your hopes elsewhere because I won't let you have that opportunity."

I could still feel his beady eyes trained on my back as I walked away, knowing how serious the man was.

The first two hours go by smoothly and I headed over to my next table, hoping that they would be cordial as my last few had been. Already I'm tempted to swallow my words as I come across the most distant couple I've seen in years. A beautiful woman in a white Calvin Klein dress that has been contoured to her voluptuous body flipped her glossy black hair over her shoulder and coldly glared at her handsome companion, who sits across from her in a detached, indifferent manner. As I approach them, I can already tell that the woman was in the process of giving me a New York once-over, a basic assessment of who someone is based on one's appearance. Her eyes started from the top, at my messy ponytail, then trailed down gradually to my feet, which were snugly cased in the hideous flats, and her thin nose bunched in disapproval. So, there will be sunny skies ahead if I ever get out this probable shit storm.

"Hi, I'm Corrine and I'll be your server today." Smiling my friendliest grin, I am greeted with stolid silence.

Waving her manicured hand to stop me from reading the specials, the woman replied without even making eye contact, "I'll have ice water with a slice of lemon in it, but bring the lemon separately. Without seeds. And the water better not be from tap, I can tell. If you don't have Evian, Poland Springs is perfectly suitable."

_Oh, I have a choice?_ I grumbled to myself.

"Alright, one ice water with lemon and..." Turning to the man, I asked politely, "Sir, will you be having anything to drink tonight?"

Staring off into space, the man doesn't answer until I repeated my question in a louder, firmer tone. He stared at me emotionless before asking for a bottle of Chianti, looking like he needed every bit of it. After writing down the drink orders, I grumbled my way back to kitchen. After pitting a pitiful limp slice of lemon free of seeds, I filled a glass with water from a bottle of Evian, adding a few cubes ice in the end. Loading it on the plastic tray, I brought out a bottle of Chianti from the wine chiller and fished out a wine glass from cupboard. Passing by Libby, I could tell she was smirking at my balancing circus act.

"Shaddup."

Drawing closer to my table, I saw the woman leaning closer to the man's face, her face the image of furious rage. Not that I'm surprised by her, but I'm surprised that the man isn't even reacting.

Her tone was no less murderous. "You're not only a fool, Dominic, you're an idiot. Who do you think you are, saying no to me? Do you even know who I am? Well, I know who you are. You're a coward. A foolish, gutless coward. I bet your own shadow scares you. You know, Tyler wouldn't have done this. Then again, Tyler was and still is many things that you aren't."

"…" His eyes are downcast and full of pain with each attack the woman made with her acerbic words.

"Here's your water." Tactfully interrupting the woman's tirade, I placed the glass of water in front of her along with a tiny dish containing the stupid lemon. Turning to the man, I gave him a sympathetic glance as I filled his glass with a deep red wine. Pulling out my writing pad, I held my pencil to it expectantly, "What would you like for dinner tonight? We have the eggplant parmesan and baked salmon with cream sauce as our dinner specials tonight."

"Give me the salmon." Tossing the laminated menu at me, the woman waved her hand annoyed at my presence.

"I'll have the pumpkin ravioli with roasted squash." The man spoke up, his face brightening up all of a sudden.

Staring oddly at the man, I pulled away and wrote the orders down, "Okay, sounds great. I'll be back in about twenty minutes."

With a turn of my heel, I entered the kitchen and clipped my order to the spinning rack on a counter. The compact kitchen was muggy with various cooking aromas yet it comforted me, it had that old fashioned homey feel. It was like I've been transported into my grandmother's kitchen, it was like home. Slumping onto the counter, I suddenly wished that I was home.

"Hey, Corrine." Looking back from the meat Bolognese in the pan, Louis Grey grinned at my slumped figure. "Run in with Derry? Last time I saw him, he had his big boy briefs in a bunch over the lighting. I don't suspect that you've been messing with the lighting, have you?"

"Shaddup. Or I'll tell Didi that you went to karaoke instead of meeting her parents last week."

"Hey, that's uncalled for. So, what is it this time, the elitist couple, the bratty kids, or the nitpicky critic?"

"Aren't they all the same?" Groaning, I let Louis laugh at my prone figure. "It's elitist couple with a pinch of nitpicky, one-half cup of witch, and five whopping quarts of estrangement."

"Want me to mess with their orders?" The mischievous grin painted on Louis's face reminded me how lucky I am to be on his side. "Put in some rancid cream of mushroom soup into the cream sauce or some leftover jack-o-lantern in the ravioli?"

"God, no! I'm scared to think what you would have come up with if you actually hated them. Dear God." Grabbing my tray, I gave Louis my most horrified expression before rushing off to help my other tables.

Calling from behind me, Louis sounded exasperated. "For Pete's sake, I was joking! You know that, right?"

Aside from the table with the estranged couple, I had a great time attending to my other guests, who were amiable and sane. All were happily eating except for the dreaded table that I had yet to deliver their order. Sucking in my breath, I picked up the salmon along with the ravioli. As I left the kitchen, I heard shouting in the dining room and Libby rushed over to me.

Libby took a firm grip of my arm, preventing me from escaping, and whispered hurriedly, "Dude, have you seen your table? That chick is cray cray. She's making a huge scene. And that guy's doing nothing. You better get over there before Derry finds someway to pin this on you."

"I know." Sighing, I ducked my head and rushed over to the table with the belligerent woman. Slapping on a perky smile, I spoke reasonably through clenched teeth, "Miss, you're causing a scene. It's making the others uncomfortable. Please if you have a problem, take it outside this restaurant."

Jumping up defensively, the woman prodded my chest with her thin finger so forcefully that I am forced to step back. She looked beyond furious like she was ready to cut me with the cutlery, safe to say I'm a bit scared. "Excuse me? Who said I had a problem? Dominic, did you hear what this crazy girl is saying? Scene? What scene?"

_The one we're in now, you lunatic_, I bitterly thought as the woman composed herself and sat back into her chair. Setting down the orders, I asked if there's anything more they need.

"I'd like a cappuccino and chocolate cake to cap off the night." Looking up and into my eyes, the man smiled wearily. His hand shook nervously, the spoon he was held clattered noisily against his plate.

"Of course, what better way to end?" Facing the temperamental woman, I asked politely, "And for you?"

The woman didn't even look up; she kept spooning in miniscule bites of salmon into her tiny, pouty mouth. Noticing that the man's wine glass was empty, I picked up the weighty glass bottle, "Would you like me to fill up your glass?"

In response, he held out his glass, "Yes, please."

Smirking, the woman said sardonically, "First, it's cake. What are you a fourth grader? Only children like sweets but you're probably a rare form of a child. So why not? Second, you can't even fill up your own glass. Now, you need a woman to do it? It wouldn't be the first time you needed a woman to take care of your business."

I don't know what happened but something in me snapped like a thin, crunchy twig. All I knew was that I had had enough of this woman practically terrorizing her date. As I was pouring into his glass the hand holding the bottle jerked to the side, dousing the woman with the burgundy liquid. I would say it was accidental but I have a good feeling that is was far from it. Her bleached white dress was dyed red while her glossy curly hair hung in lank clumps under the weight of the liquid.

Startled by my own impulsive action, I squeaked, "I'm sorry! Please, let me help you clean that dress. I have a friend who'll be able to get all of the stains out and I'll pay for it! I'm really sorry."

She didn't say a word. She let her screaming explain her emotions for her. The whole restaurant ogled in shock while the woman opened her mouth to scream a blood curdling screech, never stopping for breath. Wringing her hands, the woman tried to claw at my face but the man held her back, I just stared blankly at the whole mess, stupefied at my actions and emotions. Okay, I'm in control of this little situation. Not this snooty Valley girl with her shiny Cartier watch and glossy black hair. Oh God, I really shouldn't have come to work today; I really should have said that my aunt died, I mean Tooth Decay Derry doesn't know how many aunts I have and who cares what that little dwarf thinks? Oh joy, now she's called him over although how she managed this while screeching like a banshee is beyond me. All the while, the man just stood there so still like a statue contemplating suicide. Well I have five seconds to come up with an excuse because what Tooth Decay Derry lacks in dental hygiene he makes up for in speed. I was so close from going the whole night in flawless service that I could taste the bitter resentment Derry would have felt if this whole ordeal was avoided.

"Derry! I demand to know why you hired this idiot and why she spilled cheap wine all over my five-hundred dollar Calvin Klein dress! And I just had my hair done! Did you hear me?" The banshee poked Derry in his chest forcefully, which startles him.

"Oh darling Sasha, I am so sorry!" Furious, Derry wheeled around and bowled me over with his eggy breath. "Corrine, what is the meaning of this? I'll have you know Miss de Bonne is a valued patron and I hoped you would have treated her as such! Sasha, dear, what can I do for you? Would you like for me to send everything to dry cleaning?"

"No, I'm an adult. I can do that by myself. What I want is to return to this restaurant free of her!" Pouting her plump lips, Sasha's rail-thin arm pointed dramatically towards me.

"What! It was only an accident and I offered to have it cleaned! There really is no need to be so drastic Mr. Derry. It's just a dress, I mean a gorgeous dress that I ruined…Please, I need this job. I have no other options. With this economy, jobs are hard get. Please, I work hard and provide good service, you know that."

Since I'm pretty much fired, I have nothing to lose and resorted to begging on my knees. Despite the fact that Miss de Bonne (what does "de Bonne" mean anyway, consumer of bon bons?) was smirking, I can't care because I need this job. Badly. Half of the people in this restaurant felt bad for me while the other half thought that I should be lit on fire tied to a cross; so I have a fifty/fifty chance. Stonily, Mr. Derry gave me a pitying stare. Maybe he was a man of forgiveness, I know it's a long stretch but I have to believe in miracles. For a brief moment, I felt hope that was until he opened his mouth.

"You're fired."

The instant the word "fired" hit me, the room and everything else fell into slow motion. All I could hear is Derry's voice sluggishly telling me, "My decision is final, Miss Flynn. You can call Maggie to send you your last check but right now, I want you out of this restaurant!"

My lips trembled as I picked myself up from Tooth Decay Derry's feet and defiantly I said, "Fine, I'm leaving. But rest assured, the only time I'll ever call this restaurant is to cancel on a reservation!"

Without another word, I spun on my heels and shoved through the front door in the smoothest manner I can manage. Humph, I don't need him or that cheap restaurant that charges twenty dollars for a can of Chef Boyardee. Oh wait, I ducked my head in the door for one last time to say, well at least to lie, "By the way, Miss Sasha, that cream sauce on your salmon wasn't cream sauce at all. Do the math."

Brilliant, I managed to get myself fired from my fifth job this year. I contemplated on what jobs I haven't failed this year and considered being a mall elf; however, the thought of degrading myself to a mall minion was enough to make me queasy. But, it was probably the only option I had left. So, tomorrow, I would have to go down to the mall in Times Square and face those smug managers who'll probably laugh at me. Sounds great like everything else in my life. At least, the day didn't get any worse; I managed to sneak back into the restaurant to retrieve my purse and bag full of clothes without running into that sulfurous breath goblin or his master, Sasha de Bitch. Staring down at the large shopping bag filled with my hopes and dreams, I made a disgusted sound in my throat and threw it into the trash. What's the point? I'll never make it in this city. I'll probably live in a dirty one bedroom apartment, probably eaten by my many theorized cats, before I become successful in this horribly status-oriented city.

My cell phone rang and brought me out of my self-pitying stupor. The caller id said Myra and I feel tempted to turn off my phone. Myra is my adopted sister from South Korea, younger to be exact, who is a successful interior designer heading the famous Malaise design firm. The instant she stepped into New York, Myra and I became roomies, which meant we would split the rent half-and-half. This was a great arrangement until she became famous, earned more money, and moved into an expensive modern penthouse. For the first few months I did fine by myself until I got fired from my first job and dropped out of law school, which meant that my parents would excommunicate me and cut off my monthly allowance, and eventually, Myra, who got wind of this, forced me to move in with her. Two years later and I'm still paying rent to my younger sister. Sad I know; pathetic I acknowledge. I could just hear Myra saying, "I told you so. Go back to law school." in a fake Asian accent.

Sighing in defeat, I turned off my cell phone and walked down the block into the shopping district. Shoving my frozen hands into the soft, downy pockets of my cream colored Marc Jacobs cocoon coat which I managed to practically steal in a sample sale, I observed the myriad of boutiques show off pin thin mannequins garbed in bright, beautiful outfits to instill further jealously and lust within me. Abruptly my calfskin boots stopped in their tracks and my eyes brightened in disbelief. Furiously, I scrubbed my eyes to make sure they're clean as I read the gigantic sign that seemed to be heaven sent. Strata is having a sale, REPEAT STRATA IS HAVING A SALE! Strata never has a sale. Ever. Fifty percent off on everything in store and what just happens to be in the window display out front? Those Sonata mules I've been begging Santa for (I know it's a bit immature but I have an inner child I need to satiate once in a while). Sea foam green satin topped off with a satiny bow in the same shade and trimmed in lace. Its kitten heels are the perfect height and the soles give the impression of walking on a cloud; I know this because I've tried these shoes on ten times. Each time I had to turn away and make the hardest decision in my life (at that moment I mean). And now… I have a chance. A chance at happiness… even if that happiness costs eighty dollars.

"Excuse me… miss?" A hand gently touched my shoulder and I realized that I've been drooling in a sale-induced trance. Turning around, my face meets a warm but nervous smile. It's the boy toy that sat so complacently while Sasha de Banshee screamed shrilly (I dare you to say "Sasha screamed shrilly" three times fast). He didn't even defend me, not that I expected him to. I mean, he let that Chihuahua bark all those insulting things towards him without batting an eye, why should I expect him to act like a white knight for me?

Feeling weary from today's ordeal, I asked exasperatedly, "What do you want? An arm or a leg along with my job, I suppose?"

"Miss, I'm really sorry for Sasha's actions. I had no idea that she could be that irrational and petty. Well, that was a bit of a lie, actually. I think we both know that…" Nervously, he combed his fingers through his coffee-colored hair. His face was red with embarrassment and his demeanor seemed so genuine that I decided to soften my dagger-filled glare.

"Whatever. I sucked at waitressing anyway: could never keep track of the tables, always late. She only did everyone a favor. There's nothing you could do anyway, Derry was waiting for an excuse to fire me anyhow. My guess is that he's rude and not ginger." Shrugging noncommittally, I stared back into the window and proceeded to ignore him.

Laughing a hoarse laugh, the man's face returned to its tanned complexion. "I actually understand that reference. Is that sad? Miss… May I know your name?"

"As I've mentioned before, it's Corrine Flynn and yours?" I asked out of political correctness.

"Dominic Strata." It took a few seconds for me to process this and when it does my jaw dropped. He saw my expression and chuckled. Like a clairvoyant angel, he pointed into the window. "Yes, that Strata. Do you see anything that interests you?"

Shaking my head, I rejected his offer in spite of how much I wanted this. I can't take advantage of his kindness; my grandmother raised me better than that. "Oh no, I couldn't do that to you. Really, unless you're offering a job." I joked. His face returned to its embarrassed tint of red and I immediately apologized. "That's not what I meant. It's not your fault I lost my job." _Maybe your girlfriend's_.

"Look, I'm really sorry that I didn't stop Sasha. And I would like to repay you. Please allow me to have that honor." He saw my reluctant face and started to shuffle around his pockets. "Look, if you really need a job I have a proposition."

Excuse me? If he's going to say what I'm thinking he's going to say, then he'll be walking home with a limp. "You said you need a job, right? We have an opening at Strata; the position is an assistant-stylist. Though, it's not a guaranteed job. What I mean is that you have to be interviewed first. You will need to call this number and tell them that Dominic told you to call about the job. Miss Flynn, I cannot tell you enough how sorry I am about Sasha. Hopefully, I will see you later." He took my hand, put a familiar card in it, and closed my hand gently. Before he left, he held out a familiar shopping bag, "Are these yours by the way?"

At the sight of the bag, I broke eye contact, "No they aren't."

"Really? Miss Flynn, I personally saw you dump those clothes into a garbage disposal, shoving them into the poor receptacle while muttering something. It would be a shame to throw away such beautiful clothing in any case."

Dominic held out the proffered bag until I took it back tentatively. Feeling satisfied, Dominic dipped his head in a respectful bow and walked away as snow began to fall in gusty flakes. There are miracles. Smiling, handsome miracles, okay, I'll admit that this is the first. Suddenly, my feet burst with renewed energy and I ran after him. Knowing that I'll never catch up to him at this rate, I yelled, "Thank you!"

Dominic's head peered over his shoulder and his warm green eyes crinkled bemusedly. Before walking away, his lips formed a small smile that tells me that this can only be the beginning.

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><p><strong>EJK: So, what did you think? Is this better than the original? Did you get the Doctor Who reference? Well, I hoped you enjoyed this new version of Satin Roses. As always, I enjoy genuine critique that inform me of any logical and grammatical mistakes that I've made but completely missed. Flames will be used to make buttered toast. <strong>


	2. Would you like a side of disappointment?

A steady stream of alcohol poured into my mouth as my mouthy friend, Olivia, ranted about the injustice of the events that happened only hours ago. Smoky, muggy air suffocated my lungs and I wondered if getting shit faced was a proper method to burn off steam, it didn't matter since Olivia, Didi, and Libby dragged me to the seedy bar filled with creeps a few blocks down Didi's neighborhood. At first, I moped about my current financial state, then, progressed into drinking shots of vodka and crying simultaneously. So far, I'm having fun...I think.

Slamming her fist onto the table, Olivia slurred angrily, "Dat stupid, facking witch! How dare she be mean to you, stupid bitch! I should go to where she works and act mean to her too!"

Raising an eyebrow, Didi remarked, being the only sober one in the entire bar, "How? Sasha is a model."

"So?" Olivia glowered, staring crazily into her shot glass as if staring into an empty cup would help her think of ways to harass a famous supermodel. Straightening her back, Olivia perked up and turned to Libby, cackling drunkenly, "Hey, Libby, what if I borrowed your camera and posed as a photographer for a magazine? Ha ha ha, yeah, I'd take her into Central Park and make her freeze in a tiny bikini as random strangers watched. Then, I'd tell her that she looks fat and take pictures of her fat butt as she cries more than she made Corri cry!"

Recoiling in horror of Olivia's wrath, Didi muttered under her breath, "You're a monster."

"Stop!" I cried out in a whiny tone, tears forming in my already watering eyes, my words forming into one unintelligible sentence, "Is all my fault, I spilled on her designer dress, I deserved it, I can't do anything right!"

"You stop, you modest bastard. You're perfect. Forget that stupid, gross place, you don't deserve that kind of treatment. " Mascara ran in dramatic rivulets down her cheeks as Olivia spat into her glass. Holding out the dirty glass towards the bartender, Olivia barked, "More!"

Didi, the sensible one out of the bunch, interjected, fortunately for the bartender, "Guys, I think you've drunk too much. It's time to go home, sweeties." When Olivia and I resumed melting into puddles of tears, Didi sighed until she saw Libby, who joined in our pitiful efforts, and then, Didi buried her disgusted head in her hands. "Not you too, Libby."

Libby's voice wavered and tears spilled out of her eyes as she protested Didi's exasperation, "B-bb-but! It's so sad! Corri has no job and her landlord is her sister and she has no boyfriend! It's like a Lifetime movie."

At that remark, Olivia and I glared at her silently as we sipped our respective glasses in the disapproving manner. When Libby realized the grave mistake of comparing a friend's life to a Lifetime movie, she immediately apologized, bum rushing me with a bear hug. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that! It's just that I love you so much!"

Bursting back into tears, I sobbed, "Aw, I love you too!"

"Me, too! I love all y'all bitches." Olivia laughed as she sprayed the two of us with her alcohol saturated breath.

And I did love them bitches. Without Libby's silly thoughtfulness, Didi's sisterly sensibility, and Olivia's brash bravery, I would be lost in the labyrinth that is New York. Olivia supports me without question and a warm embrace to reassure me that I am not alone. Didi keeps me grounded with a firm grip on reality but she isn't harsh about it. Libby finds ways to brighten my day even if it seems insignificant to her. But most of all, they love me, banal, clumsy, awkward me. They love all of me and I love all of them, every single precious fiber in their being. Even when we fight, it's hard to stay mad because neither of us wants to be angry towards each other. We were like the Sisterhood of Traveling Pants except not as stupidly hormonal or pants-obsessed.

Didi just grimaced, "Oy vey. Time to close down the circus before some real freaks come in for a show."

Olivia just attempted to seduce the bartender with her mascara-stained face, completely drunk out of her mind.

Libby just hiccuped and collapsed into my arms in a drunken stupor.

I just giggled hysterically at the mess we've become with a few shots of vodka, no longer sobbing like a cranky baby without it's pacifier.

Safe to say, we were those girls, but the funny thing is, as insecure as I am about myself, I could not be prouder of the emotionally volatile, silly, drunk girls that I call my friends.

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><p>Rule one: never drink.<p>

Rule two: never drink enough to the point when you watch Titanic on your friend's television and cry at the moment Jack dies even though you stuffed a waffle inside the dvd player in place of an actual dvd.

Rule three: never drink and then order pizza right at the moment you're ready to puke.

Rule four: never drink and sing the lyrics to "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" with a mouth full of pizza. Trust me, it's not as fun as you think.

Rule five: never drink and then call your potential employer, sarcastically ordering a KFC Double Down from them even though they are a clothing store that caters to customers afraid of very scent of grease and fat, with a side order of a job interview courtesy of that "cute dude" Dominic.

And rule six: never ever drink. Oh shit.

* * *

><p>Blergh. My head feels like a pile of shit that was puked on and considering my puke stained shirt, I wouldn't be that far off. My mind is no better, muddled and hazy without a single coherent thought. As I exhaled, my voice groaned at the pure feat of gaining consciousness as if I was Atlas, lifting up the world on my tiny shoulders. This is not my home. My brain quipped, You don't say? Shut up, brain. At least I'm starting to think. Raising my leaden body from the plushy surface that had formerly been plastered to my face, I recognize it as Didi's couch and surmised that Didi had dragged my sobbing, drunken form to her apartment to save me from the embarrassment I would have encountered with Myra. The enticing aroma of freshly made waffles confirmed my suspicions and I made my way to Didi's bathroom and braced myself for the horror show I'd encounter in her bathroom mirror.<p>

Let's just say I nearly screamed. Apparently, I had a raccoon as a makeup artist because my eyes had taken on the "Raccoon Eye" effect, my lids covered in smeared smoky black makeup and my cat-eye eyeliner completely smudged all over, going as far as running down my cheeks. Thankfully, I had not applied lipstick the night before and only used a lip balm though it had been awhile since my lips were cracked and scaly like a dried out iguana. And my hair. It's as if every single strand of hair had become sentient and inebriated, deciding to party on my head. Some strands rose up in persistent cowlicks and other strands entangled themselves with others, forming misshapen dreadlocks, but most strands jutted outwards as though it were trying to escape their follicles. With resignation in my voice, I sighed and began to brush out the stubborn kinks in my hair, my arms yanking at the tangled auburn mess with the force of a Spartan warrior. It took a few minutes, along with staunch patience and the repression of the urge to cry out in pain, before my hair had reverted to it's normally decent form and I averted my attention to the raccoon makeup that covered my eyes. Knowingly, my fingers reached for Didi's makeup remover and cotton pads which remained in its familiar place. The cotton pads soaked up the clear liquid eagerly and I began the laborious process of removing eye makeup from the previous night. One would think it would take a few simple swipes and like a miracle, the evil black ink and powder that had taken over your eyelids would melt off like candle wax. I could just laugh. Ten minutes skirted by and the last of my makeup rubbed off leaving my pale skin raw and pink. Maybe I might have done too much damage control.

"Good morning, Corri." Setting down a plate of steaming waffles and thick, salty bacon, Didi smiled as her dark skin glowed in the morning light, further illuminating her angelic features.

"Doesn't feel that great."

Her afro shook as Didi chuckled, "I wouldn't expect it to, considering your emotional and physical state yesterday. You weren't sauced, you were wasted like money in Wall Street."

My hand cupped my cheek as I slumped against her dining table, feebly cutting into the syrup soaked waffles. Raising my head in curiosity, I asked, "Where's Louis?"

Since their five year anniversary, Louis and Didi decided in typical lovey dovey style to live in cohabitation within a cozy loft. Only Louis and Didi could make a perfect couple, one without distrust and resentment but with understanding and comfort. They're so happy and worry free, not to mention impossibly beautiful, that sometimes, they make me sick... with jealousy of course.

For example, in this very moment Didi sighed dreamily as she stirred her cup of Earl Grey with relaxed joy, responding, "He went out to buy us some chocolate chip donuts and a cup of white hot chocolate for you."

The sound that came from my mouth certainly did not sound human. "Why do you guys have to be so flawless? Is there something in the water in this neighborhood that makes you into a considerate, kind human being? Obviously, I need a cup of it asap."

Bursting out into laughter at my surly remark, Didi shook her head, "I'm hardly perfect, Corri. I nag more than my own mother, intentionally never leave the right amount of tip, and I laugh at old ladies who wear too much makeup behind their backs. And Louis is not the best roommate. I mean he curses at twelve-year-olds on X-Box live, farts constantly in my face for a laugh, and he leaves the seat up every time just to troll!"

Rolling my eyes, I raised up my hands in mock horror, "Oh God, I take it back, all of it. You two are obviously a terrible human beings."

"Yeah, yeah. Eat your waffles before I force feed you with a funnel."

"Don't have to tell me twice." Soon enough, my plate was decorated with sticky crumbs and tiny, crispy bits of bacon and I licked my lips in satisfaction.

The front door opened as Louis bellowed in his best impression of Ricky Ricardo, "Lucy, I'm home!"

Wincing, I grumbled, "Why don't you say it louder, will you? I don't think she heard you."

Lowering the warm treats, Louis saddled over to my side and my eyes narrowed into a paranoid stare. Smirking, Louis bent down until his lips were inches away from my ear and hollered, "Morning, Corri! You look bright and chipper this morning!"

As retaliation, I turned to Louis and smiled sweetly, "Hey, Louis, was that you I saw at karaoke last week on the night you were supposed to meet Didi's parents?"

Before I could say anything more, Louis covered my mouth with his warm hand, muffling the exclamations of disgust and expletives that rolled out of my mouth. Louis's lips formed a nervous grin as he forced a rough laugh out of his mouth, his eyes darting back and forth as if that would help him form an excuse.

"Ha ha ha, Corrine, you're hilarious! I was sick last week remember when I didn't come into work that day and Daryl had to cover?"

My muffled voice protested against his claims as Didi grew dangerously quiet. For a moment, Louis and I both believed that Didi would storm out in indignant anger as she usually did but then, I caught the sight of her skinny fingers twisting a rolled up newspaper, winding it up tightly. I could only wince. Like lightening to a tree, Didi came at Louis hard and fast, using the newspaper roll to swat at his head. Louis cried out, running as fast as he could around the tiny, compact space, as Didi literally stormed through anything standing in her way. Thoughts of Friday the Thirteen ran through my head as I watched the spectacle of the couple that formerly made me sick with jealousy.

After she finished beating Louis, Didi stalked off, mumbling, "Teach you to lie, punk. And to think, you were so innocent. What's next you're name really isn't Louis and you're hiding bodies underneath the floorboards?"

With a final guttural growl, Didi slammed the bedroom door causing us to flinch. Louis and I stared at each other in shock though we knew that Didi couldn't stay angry for long. Passing him a warm donut, I bit into mine and apologized, "Sorry, I didn't think she'd flip out like that. I'll talk to her when she cools down."

Waving his donut in an airy manner, Louis exhaled heavily, "It's alright, I was the asshole in this situation. Besides, Didi would probably cut the first person she sees, so I'll volunteer. And considering what went down yesterday, I don't want to put you through more shit."

"Thanks."

"No problem, bro." Rising from his chair, Louis commented before he left, "By the way, you have a missed call on your phone. I didn't want to touch your stuff so I left it alone."

Hmm, it's probably Myra in a tizzy from my absence but even she knows that I frequently get drunk with my friends. My feet dragged sluggishly across the smooth floor and I collapsed onto my knees in front of my gigantic purse. Digging through the pockets, I realized that my phone had migrated to the glass coffee table right next to me. Pressing on the voice mail option on my phone, I settled it against my ear, patiently awaiting the message.

After a monotone beep, a confident, feminine voice spoke, "Hi, this is Grace Wright, manager of the Strata Manhattan store. I got your message and confirmed that Dominic did offer you a job interview, so if you want I have this Friday open at nine in the morning. Just call if you want the interview or if you have a problem with the date. All you need to bring is your resume and a copy of the Strata application which you can find online. Thank you."

Well, fuck.

* * *

><p>Name.<p>

Well, that's an easy one. Corrine Adelaide Flynn. Next.

Age. Date of Birth.

As if you give an ish as long as I'm a size two, it'll be fine. Whatever, I'm 24. Ha ha ha, I'm so old...not really. And I was born on...08/12/1989.

Where did you learn of this job opportunity?

From your mom. From an acquaintance.

Position applied for:

Assistant stylist.

What date are you available to work?

Whenever you want. I'm broke as hell, what am I going to do? Throw bread at the birds in Central Park like all the other losers?

As soon as I finished my sarcastic comment, I crossed it out, running multiple thin black lines over the writing until it disappeared under one thick black bar. Realizing what a mess it was, I crumpled it in resignation and got up out of my stiff plastic egg-shaped Ikea chair. Stretching out my long arms, I thought about the past day, my state of mind still frazzled and disbelieving of my good fortune. I know, Dominic didn't give me the job directly but the smallest mention of his name snagged me an interview, and that, my friend, certainly helped. Tomorrow, it's tomorrow, my mind chanted religiously. Got my application (well, I'll finish it tonight), got my resume, now all I need is some courage. Courage to put myself out there again. Gosh, I sound like I've just been dumped, which isn't so far off since my last relationship just sunk into the abyss several weeks ago but still, I could sound less desperate.

At least, I'll have something better to do than knitting or scrap booking, two hobbies I do to busy myself during my free time when I'm unemployed. To this day, I have not completed a single project, only making one mitten and finishing half of a book. Now that I think about it, it may be due to the fact that I never completed my first project I ever set my mind to complete, collecting a thousand pennies, face side up for luck, and buying ten Italian cherry ices, which would have made Mr. Salano, the surly ice cream man back in my old neighborhood, seriously pissed off. A hobby my brother, Dan, and I enjoyed thoroughly. We would have shared the cherry flavored treats with our neighborhood friends, eating after an arduous day of playing cops and robbers. It was shame we never finished the collection though, I still had the nine hundred and fifty lucky pennies that we stowed away in Ziploc boxes, hundred pennies per box; sadly, everyone we knew finally grew up, some snobby and privileged, others rebellious and self destructive, and others moved away, forgetting what they left behind. Eventually, Dan turned his back on play once he entered middle school, focusing on violin, lacrosse, and study. Of course, Myra thought it was stupid project but only because she was never involved with it. And so, I'll never finish that project and I'll never finish knitting that other mitten or finish the Flynn family history book. I can't, not by myself.

My mind begged for a release from the stressful thoughts it concocted and I complied by flicking off my bedroom light, eclipsing the room in darkness. Plopping down onto my bed, I stared up towards my ceiling, losing my train of thought in the myriad of glow-in-the-dark stars that I dutifully pasted on during one restless day. The soft glow from the stars contrasted the pitch black ceiling it clung onto for dear life. My eyes roved in a circular manner, following the swirling pattern of the stars which I had purposefully done to give it a hypnotic effect. Eventually, my eyelids grew heavy with lethargy and I allowed them to shut, my body slowly curling up into the fetal position as my mind began to lose consciousness. Sweet, heavenly sleep, the remedy for any stress-inducing situation. Just at the moment before my mind finally gave up staving off sleep, my eyes blink open at the sudden introduction of bright, nearly blinding light that flooded the room as my sister, Myra, barged in.

"Wake up." Myra spoke up, her voice every bit as entitled and demanding as a rich teenage girl. She was still upset that I had been fired from my last job and my previously inebriated state when I arrived at one in the afternoon, and she was still skeptical of Dominic despite knowing him on a friendly basis.

"Leammealone." My voice croaked in response, which happened to be an unfortunate decision as it prompted her to flicker the lights on and off. Groaning, I sat up as my arms propped my back against the headboard of my bed. Contemplating on sassing my sister, I glared at her and her large, half-moon shaped eyes that were narrowed into an intense glare that refused to waver.

"It's mom."

At the bare mention of her name, I felt my muscles tightening into knots, my abdomen contracting in a painful cramp. Her limber fingers tapped the wall softly irritated me to no end and I finally gave in to my sister's demand to speak to my mother. Sitting up, I made a gesture to Myra to give me the phone which she clutched so tightly onto.

Raking back my thick hair, I spoke with hesitation laced around my greeting, "Hello?"

"Corrine? Is that you?" My mother's sharp voice grated against my ears, causing me to wince.

Picking out ear wax from my open ear, I responded in the same dull tone that ever child uses when addressing with his or her parents. "Yeah, it's me."

"Corrine, you are a highly functioning adult, I expect you to speak like one too. I suppose you're not sitting properly either."

She's a freaking hawk. Suppressing a groan of frustration, I replied, subconsciously straightening my back, "So, mother, what's the special occasion? You usually don't deign your lovely presence to us, common folk."

Before I could continue, a neon pink bone-shaped dog toy collided into the side of my head courtesy of Myra and her softball pitcher arm. The expression on her face was much worse, threatening death or worse, being her maid of honor if I could not get along with my mother. Though it didn't stop me from chucking back the slimy dog toy, childishly sticking my tongue out afterwards. Myra, finally, left after receiving the toy back in her face. My mother was completely absorbed in her life, yammering on about the Joneses and the millionth grandchild their daughter manages to churn out.

"Corrine? Corrine?" Annoyed at the lack of response from my end, my mother snapped, "Corrine Flynn, are you listening to me? Or was playing around with your sister more exciting?"

Christ on Earth, a hawk, I tell you. "Yes?"

A huff of annoyance crackled over the phone connection and my mother murmured tenderly, "Come home." I could feel the hardened features of my face ease up at her gentle tone until my mother continued, "What do you even want to accomplish in New York? Being fifty and living on minimum wage?"

Knowing the truth, my voice asked, devoid of any emotion except disappointment, "Is that why you called?"

"Your place is not in New York. Come home. Your father and I miss you and we are fully prepared to make your return to school as easy as possible. We'll forget everything you said and did, we forgive you for everything. You belong with in Massachusetts, your home."

Knowing I had nothing to say, I countered in an icy tone, "I will never belong with you."

The next sound I heard was the monotonous tone of the dial tone as my finger clicked the end call button. Staring at my finger glued to the button, refusing to remove itself, I brushed back my hair from my forehead and peered up towards the stars again, this time, feeling no solace.

Memories of my childhood came to mind, being chastised for wanting to sleepover at a friend's instead of studying and going mad with boredom in my vast bedroom just staring at the thick SAT book that only stared back. The sound of a pencil scraping against the rough, grey paper as it wrote over the same writing as before filled my ears like white noise from a broken television. Shaking my head, I tried to empty my mind from this white noise when my mind moved on to happier memories of secretly doodling in the margins of my book and my grandmother bringing up soft, warm sugar cookies to spur me on. Her kind words comforted the heavy loneliness I felt at the time and I wanted to lose myself in her soft, warm embrace. My thoughts were interrupted by the realization that my cheeks were wet with salty tears and I wiped them off with the sleeve of my scratchy wool sweater.

Myra sensed my presence the instant I entered the dim living room yet she kept her eyes on the flickering lights of the television screen. "How did it go?"

I couldn't respond especially since my throat thickened with emotion. The tiny click of the phone being set back into its stand answered her question and her shoulders bristled impatiently. The tone of her voice was so acerbic it could have literally cut through steel. It was the same disappointment I felt with my parents, the feeling that they could never understand and frustration at the thought of their stubbornness.

"I see."

Squirming underneath her cold silence, I played with a lock of my hair, anxious for the usual backlash, until I realized that my own sister was giving me the silent treatment. The dark solid wood flooring felt like ice beneath my naked feet and the small, nervous breath that I exhaled could be seen as a faint puff of air. Returning to my room, shuddering from the frigid atmosphere around me, I had only just noticed that the a/c hadn't even been touched.

* * *

><p><strong>EJK: Sorry for taking so long, I felt like school got in the way along with an absence in the passion I had with this story. I'm starting to regain it back and I'm already writing out the third chapter, so hang in there. Stuck in a mirror and PeppermintWings: I know I got lazy and unmotivated but I'm going to fight that off and try to resume my chapter a week challenge, so hopefully, I'll update more often. LycheeBOBA: love your username and have melted into a pile of flattered goo, you and I both need SOPA to censor us since I curse on a daily basis. Xaver 13: thanks for giving me so many happy feels and Sasha will never melt even though parts of her are plastic and nothing will get rid of her, she's like Chucky but with more implants and makeup. A Simple Username: thank you, I tried to make the fight between Sasha and Dominic to some degree dramatic and I'm glad you liked it. Dangerous Music: hearing "raining in" reminds me of rap videos where the rappers make "it rain" which I suppose isn't a bad thing :D and it feels great getting reviews kind of like a rainy day in the summer, so thanks, and gurl, you know Sasha has pricey ass stuff along with a pricey ass to boot. <strong>

**Anyways, forgive my inactivity, I'm addicted to Tumblr and my dash is blowing up with Hunger Games gifs so I'm pretty distracted. JK. If you want to see my tumblr, it's: mature- ignorance. tumblr .com (minus the spaces). It's mostly reblogs of K-pop, adorable animals, fashion, and occasionally posts of my art.**

**P.S.: I'll probably fix up any errors today considering it's past twelve, so if you see any errors give me a heads up.**


	3. Strange Dreams and Stranger Reality

_Mmm, Ryan Reynolds. Wait, why are you licking my face? I mean not that I mind 'cause, hey, it's you but it's still pretty freaky even for me. _Grinning to myself, I allowed myself to indulge in my odd fantasy up until the moment Ryan barked in my face, then, I knew something was off. Blinking repeatedly, my eyes were confronted with the sight of two dark brown, glassy eyes and my ears with the sound of a rough, excited bark. There was a pressure on my chest where two firm forelimbs were resting, the pressure shifting constantly as they moved back between the left and right. It was the moment the pink tongue returned to paint my cheeks with slobber that I finally sat up, practically jumping up in my bed.

"Minnie, you doof." Giggling uncharacteristically, I wrapped my arms around the large, spotted Great Dane, who returned the loving gesture by barking even more excitedly and putting her paws upon my shoulders.

Checking the vintage Mickey Mouse my brother had gifted me years before, I accepted the fact that my dog wanted to go on a walk at eight in the morning...in fifteen degree weather. Taking a second glance, I sighed at the sight of Mickey's left arm settled around the stylized eight and longer right one edging off into the one minute mark. Picking up the hundred-ten pound dog, I could feel my spine slowly cracking underneath her weight and promptly plopped her down off of my bed, letting her run off to the front door. Slippery nylon slipped over my skinny arms as I put on my pea green parka, ignoring the fact that I was wearing navy blue cotton pajamas underneath. Peeking out from under the pants were comfortable, faux fur lined moccasins over a pair of forest green frog-printed socks. After knotting my hair into a messy bun, I carefully wrapped a scarf around my neck as I gazed at my less than impressive appearance. Someday, I'll wake up looking like a goddess but for now, the world will just have to deal.

Attaching a lime green leash to Minnie's cream collar, my hands gripped the sturdy rope that linked me to the crazy, hyperactive dog I dearly loved. As I picked up my purse, I felt my body jerk to the side as Minnie ran straight into the door. A simpering whimper burst out of Minnie's mouth as she smacked into the front door. Biting my lip, I held back my laughter as I rubbed the tender spot on her head softly.

Exiting the building, I let out a startled gasp as cold, frigid air greeted me, frosting my round cheeks a rosy pink tint. Sniffing around, Minnie took her leisurely time finding a prime spot to take a piss on, safe to say I had a jolly time waiting for her to do her business. Ten minutes crawled by as Minnie's powerful body dragged me to and fro until she found a patch of dull, withered, frozen grass that captured her eye. Minnie cocked her head to the side as she settled down on the grass, giving me a stern glare as if to say, "I got some business to sort out if you don't mind."

Shrugging, I looked away, focusing on anything that came to sight. And there it was glinting in the surprisingly bright sunlight, a tiny copper penny on its side, the profile of Abraham Lincoln facing up. Eagerly, I bent down to pick it up the coin. Maybe I'd start anew, finish something for once in my life, I mean I'm interviewing for Strata, maybe things will start to look up. I'll finish this project, which will mean I've moved on from the past and get the job at Strata and keep it, work hard and push through any unpleasantry that comes my way with a smile. Then, I'll move out of Myra's place, get a cheap loft somewhere nice without muggers or gangsters constantly lurking around. I'll meet a nice guy who has a steady job and will accept my faults like eating delivery pizza in the middle of the night or crying while watching Titanic because I know the ending and I love Leonardo too much then rewind it over and over. You know, the annoying stuff, the unreasonable. After that we'll get married and settle in Soho or someplace hip like that and we'll have two kids, one boy and one girl, but they'll have normal names like Anna and Thomas instead of Apple and Maddox. Yep, that's how my life will work out, if I keep track on my plan.

Deeply imagining my brightening future, I only snapped out of the reverie when I feel warm flesh make contact with my cold fingers. My penny. Staring at the knobby, tanned fingers that were fixed upon my penny, I tightened my two-fingered grasp over the coin. Relax, it's going to be a good day, I'm going to be pleasant, so nice it hurts my inner Gollum, who is begging me to bite off the other person's fingers. I'm almost tempted to growl, "My precious." It sounds like a lot to be worked over for a penny but I can't help it, it was mine.

Pleasantly, I smiled and added, "Excuse me, but I found this first."

A smooth, distantly accented voice apologized, "Oh, pardon me, Miss Flynn. I wasn't expecting anyone to pick it up and I have a fondness for collecting coins of all kinds, a childhood hobby if I may call it that."

"Well, you can take that fondness and shove it." I muttered underneath my breath, inner Gollum taking over.

"I beg your pardon? I didn't catch that."

"Nothing, nothing at all," Peering up to my competition, I broadened my smile to ensure that nothing negative had been said, my smile rigid with fright at the realization of whose fingers I was so eager to bite for the penny.

Grinning back, Mr. Dominic "Penny Thief" Strata supped from a steaming cup of Starbucks, amusement lighting up on his face. Shoot, I almost went Gollum on my potential boss. Well now, I must look like a mess, unwashed hair in a top knot, over sized parka over my thin frame, billowy pajama pants clinging onto my hips, silly frog socks, and hot-dog-roll-shaped moccasins.

Letting go of the penny, Dominic laughed at my dumbstruck expression. "You can have it."

"Thanks." Pocketing my successfully captured penny, I realized that my left hand was continuously being tugged back and returned my attention to Minnie, who began to whine in indignity of being ignored. Sighing, I petted her velvety head, right between her ears, cooing, "Alright my little princess, you know what time it is? It's bath time!"

Minnie resumed whining at my joke, not amused in the least.

"I'm joking, you goof." Pulling out a cookie like treat, I held it out, letting her wet tongue slobber over my fingers as she went to town on the treat. "You dog, didn't even take it out for dinner."

A bark responded to my comment. However, it came from behind and it was most certainly human. Bent over, Dominic covered his stomach with one hand, which held a powdered beignet, while holding out his hot drink with the other, trying hard to keep that hand steady.

Frowning, I inquired, "Does rewarding my dog amuse you?"

Hacking a cough to hide his laugh, Dominic waved the hand holding the beignet nonchalantly, "Nothing at all. What ever gave you that idea?"

Grumpily, I narrowed my eyes and replied humorlessly, "That constipated expression on your face is a pretty big indicator. And the fact that your voice sounds like an Orc trying to enunciate from pushing back that _cute_ laugh of yours."

Blushing, Dominic found a new focus in the ground, breaking eye contact. He mumbled apologetically, "Sorry, I wasn't laughing at you. I just think you should check your shoes."

"Eh?" Peering down, my eyes met a familiar sight of a brown, mushy substance. Upon further observation, I realized that the cretin had spat up the treat I so graciously gifted her a few minutes ago. Immediately, my hand swatted at Minnie's head as she ran off, bulling her way towards Dominic, who had just noticed my miniature pony of a dog making a beeline for him. Dominic's lips opened wide as an unnatural sound emitted from his mouth again, this time from horror. In one solid _thwack_, Minnie knocked down Dominic as if he were a wall made from gingerbread and Minnie being the greedy child in want of sweets. Spilling out onto the rocky gravel pavement, light brown coffee spread out in a pool as if it were blood freely flowing from a victim of a slasher or in this case a large dog. Bent over, paws akimbo, Minnie snatched the beignet from Dominic's hand with a clean swipe of her tongue, practically inhaling the sweet treat.

Serves him right, cracking up like an immature little boy. Questioning whether or not I wanted to laugh in the frightened man's face or actually act altruistic for once in my life, I was reminded that this man may be my future employer and it would not bear too favorably if I mocked him in front of him. Sauntering over towards the helpless Dominic, I fought hard to keep the smug smirk that my lips were forming at bay, my tone bordering between insincerity and mirth, "I'm sorry, Minnie is a bit of a free spirit, you'll never know when she'll try to jump you. If you wouldn't mind, I would be happy to buy you another coffee, beignet, and get your clothes cleaned. I feel terrible."

"Oh, well then, I'll accept that offer. Thank you, Miss Flynn; it's very kind of you." Smiling genuinely, Dominic made it difficult to wish him ill will and I returned a hesitant smile.

Pointing north, I gestured to Myra's penthouse, "Right, my apartment is close by if you want to get a change of clothes. My sister's fiancée drops by occasionally and he usually keeps spare clothing in there. You look the same size, if not a bit skinnier."

Following me like a puppy dog, Dominic froze in his tracks as I finished talking. Dominic frowned, "You mean to say that your sister's fiancée keeps a change of clothing in your apartment?"

Quickly, I realized the gross misunderstanding Dominic was under and I corrected myself, stammering, "I mean that I live with my sister! And her fiancée stops by occasionally when I'm not there!"

"Of course, my apologies if I misconstrued anything in particular." God, he was so pleasant and understanding I wanted to shake him, asking if he's some reincarnation of Jesus and if the rapture would be occurring soon, but I don't because I don't want to cause any more misunderstandings with the man I nearly bit for a penny. I probably couldn't have made a better impression.


	4. Crazy Stupid Drama

**Dominic's PoV**

* * *

><p>Surprisingly enough, I already knew Corrine's sister. Myra Flynn was a top interior designer who had taken the reins in designing Strata. Along the way, Myra and I became friends and a sort of business partners; she now designs for the other Strata boutiques. Myra had a dry sense of humor, an even more dry sense of sarcasm, a dull sense of sensitivity, and a strong sense of loyalty. She was one of the most reliable and determined people I could ever hope to meet.<p>

"Hey, Dominic, I'm surprised to see you." Myra gave Corrine a strange look and gave me one of her signature wooden hugs. "What brings you here?"

Corrine held up her hands in surprise, "Wait, you two know each other?"

"Yeah, didn't I tell you about the Malaise firm working with Strata Enterprise?" Myra smiled at me, ignoring the glare Corrine had trained on her, "I thought I told you about it."

"Well, it must have slipped your mind." Sulkily, Corrine walked off into a room, slamming the door behind her.

"So, why the surprise visit?

"Well, I was taking a relaxing walk to Strata headquarters until I ran into Corrine and your little pony," I pointed out the excited, abnormally large dog that was tracking mud across the penthouse's formally pristine floors. "One jump and I received a lovely battle wound." I chuckled good naturedly and pointed to the enormous coffee stain. "And, your sister offered to give me a change of clothes, so here I am."

"Oh, Minnie, what will I do with you?" Myra cooed to the oversized dog, "So, aside from being assaulted by my dog, how have you been, Dominic?"

"I've been well, Strata is starting to gain more attention, which is good, and I've just gotten out of a dead end relationship."

"Oh," A pause, "I heard about Sasha. I'm so sorry, Corrine usually well behaved. It's not in her character to do something so bold. Not that it's so surprising…"

"'Well behaved?' You sound like her mother and aren't you the younger one?" My tone grew startlingly sharp as if Myra was insulting me instead of her own sister. "Besides, Corrine offered me a spare change of clothing, which I must say is the response one makes if one has manners."

"Oh sure, but that's only one incident. As of late, Corrine's been extremely immature." said Myra defensively, "Like how she's applying for a new job but she won't tell me where she's applied to until she hears back. She's making a huge fuss like a child. I don't even see what the big deal is."

"Really? I'm being immature?" Corrine had seemingly materialized out of thin air, handing a pile of neatly folded clothing into my open hands, "You know what Myra? I'm not even going to dignify that comment with a response."

Angrily, Corrine stormed off, again, to what I could only assume was her room. Nonchalantly, Myra simply shrugged. Picking up a tiny purse, Myra petted the furry fiend and pointed to a door down the hall, "The bathroom is down the hall to the left, you can change there. Dominic, I hoped to talk more with you but I have to go to work now. Maybe I'll see you at my engagement party in a few weeks?"

"Sure." Giving Myra a feigned smile, I allowed myself to be stiffly hugged by her again.

With a subtle click, the front door closed behind Myra and I headed off to the bathroom. Stark and cold, Myra's bathroom was as clean and sterile as a hospital room. While a bathroom may not be a reflection of one's soul, it certainly can give an impression of who a person is and Myra's bathroom seemed to be calmly whispering that its owner is not the most heart warming. Then again, I may just be distracting myself from the task at hand.

After changing into a pair of crisp chinos, I found myself wrestling my way into a lime green polo. Myra's fiancée, who I have not met yet, had to have the physique of a stick insect or a tiny man considering the fact that I wear a size small in men's. As I pondered on the idea that Myra's fiancée was indeed a stick insect who spent his days eating leaves or a dwarf who spent his days working in the mines, still wriggling my way into the damned shirt, my thoughts were interrupted by a terrible ripping sound. In a feeble manner, the polo limply slumped onto the tiled floor, the wrinkles in the fabric seemed to make a frown and I furrowed my brows in what I imagined to be defiant. I exhaled deeply. Bloody wonderful, I've managed to make the simple task of changing into a shirt look impossibly difficult. Corrine is going to think that I'm the biggest prick.

Picking up the torn shirt, I left the bathroom and made my way to Corrine's room. I was about to knock onto the door when I heard the sound of soft sobs. The sobs were quiet and reserved but I could hear the familiar brokenness and the loneliness in them. She sounded like a lost child, like when my younger sister, Mara, was five and had to go to our parents' funeral. I've heard myself make these sounds before. Backing away from the door, I considered my options: one, bother the obviously emotional Corrine, or two, take care of everything myself and leave her be. For some reason, the latter was severely unappealing and I reminded myself that I owe nothing to this girl, a few years younger than myself, this clumsy, comely girl with fiery hair and a overactive dog. And yet, there was a stirring in my chest that compelled me to knock on Corrine's door, convincing me that she needed company. Two raps on the door were all it took to have Corrine open the door, revealing her tear stained cheeks and reddened complexion.

"What?" There was a moment of silence as she caught sight of my bare chest, which I suppose I should have covered. Her cheeks bloomed into two roses and her large eyes ogled my chest in what could have been admiration.

"I think the shirt you gave me is too small." I said, feeling the urge to smack my forehead at the vast understatement.

Inspecting the ripped shirt, Corrine said wryly, "You don't say. I forgot that this was Jack's kid brother's shirt, last time he came to New York, he threw up on this shirt when he saw the giraffes in Central Park Zoo." Catching the sight of my horrified expression, Corrine giggled, "Don't worry, it's been washed several times since then. I'll go get you another shirt."

Following her to another room, I asked, "Are you all right? I mean sisters fight all the time, and trust me I know, but they always forgive each other no matter what."

Opening a drawer, Corrine said, "It wasn't that."

"Then, what was it?"

"Nothing. It's stupid and won't matter to you." Proffering a neatly folded collar shirt, Corrine gave the indication that the conversation had ended.

Refusing the shirt, I said, "Try me. I won't change until you tell me."

Corrine's features twisted into an expression of incredulity, hesitation, and annoyance. "Why do you care?"

"Because you've been genuinely nice to me in the past few days and I'd like to help you any way possible. Why do you think I offered you a job at Strata?"

"Actually, you offered me an interview." She retorted petulantly. With a sigh, Corrine tossed the shirt onto my chest and sat on the bed, her voice breaking into a whisper, "I thought that I would have more time."

"Time? Like a watch or a clock?"

Glaring, Corrine said, "I was supposed to have the interview, you so generously offered, today. At nine and clearly I'm late. Forty minutes late to be exact and considering that Strata is clearly busy, I doubt that Grace Wright, however nice she is, is going to reschedule. So, it's nice to meet you, Mr. Strata, but I doubt we'll meet each other again. Myra will give you your to-be-dry-cleaned clothes soon."

I couldn't help but laugh at her silly display of drama, finishing buttoning up the new shirt, "Is that all?"

"Excuse me?"

"Get up, take a shower, primp yourself or whatever women do to get ready, get dressed, and get your resume and application ready. I'll call my butler, Godfrey, to pick us up and I'll get Grace to reschedule your interview for sometime later today." I offered a hand.

Dumbfounded, Corrine stared at my hand as if it were a snake.

"Don't you know who I am? I'm Dominic bloody Strata and if I want, I'll get you a damn interview. And I want."

There was a moment of silence before Corrine's features broke out into an expression of genuine happiness, laughter bubbling forth from her lips, "Thank you."

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for taking so long but writer's block has struck again. Ugh, I know, excuses excuses. I'm sorry to all my readers that waited and I hope that my writer's block has ended for good.<strong> **Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this installment of Satin Roses.**


	5. The Best Surprise is a Pleasant One

The aroma of sugar cookies and chocolate croissants caused Dominic to drool the Niagara Falls. So this was his quirk, he had a sweets obsession, which I suppose is less alarming than one concerning bondage and the like. His eyes are wide and alert, his bottom lip quivered, and his forehead, underneath his long hair, has become balmy with sweat. He looked more anxious than a shopaholic in Strata. He had issues.

"You alright?" I touched his arm in amused concern.

Surprised, Dominic chuckled nervously, pushing back his long bangs with a sweaty palm, "Well, sweets are my vice to be honest. Some people indulge in smoking, others in drinking, and I in sweets. It's gotten to the point where my butler is trying to intervene. That and I feel a bit bad since I've eaten five beignets just this morning."

"Don't feel bad, I have a habit of buying too many lottery scratch cards. It's part of being human. Why don't you take a seat and I'll get your coffee? Cream, sugar?"

"Pardon?"

"For your coffee?"

"Oh, yes to both if you wouldn't mind." His tone was so formal I felt like I was addressing an elderly man from the Depression era.

"I wouldn't mind, you know this is twenty-first century America. You don't have to be so wooden."

Startled, Dominic apologized immediately, "I'm very sorry if you felt that I was being in anyway formal!"

I realized that Dominic was clueless and instead of groaning at his apology, I gave him a smile and nodded towards the tables. "Just find a seat, I'll be with you soon, cream and sugar coffee."

And then there was that smile. The corners of his lips pulled outwards as the apples of his cheeks stood out, a small flash of white teeth peeking from the light pink of his lips. It was as if I was Santa and he was a child. He couldn't have been happier at that moment than he already was and it was endearing to see him in that manner. It made me feel special in a strange way, like we were the last people on Earth and he couldn't be happier that it was me. It was unbelievably charming and I felt my own smile widen.

As I waited in line, I wondered why Dominic was so nice to me. It couldn't have been that I was charming like him or that I was beautiful like Sasha. I wasn't even that nice. And I had a Great Dane who assaulted him just this morning. Sure I made him laugh once, but I doubt that's grounds to be nice. And yes, I defended him once but even then, that was an accident spurred on by my subconscious dislike for verbally abusive supermodels. It felt nice to be treated in this kind manner but also completely unwarranted. This morning, he could have just walked away from me and Minnie but he stayed to do what? Stand there and watch as I fed my dog? I could think of a dozen, better ways to spend the morning. Though, I may be analyzing far too closely into this, I mean who am I? Olivia?

"Welcome to Wonderland Café, may I take your order?" A sullen teen hipster glared at me from under the thick-rimmed, oversized glasses perched atop his beakish nose. He slurred his speech as if he was humiliated to be seen wearing a pair of wobbly rabbit ears or that he was too high for this line of work or both.

"Yes, I'd like a cup of the Alice blend, tall, the Dormouse coffee with cream and sugar, also tall, and two green tea 'Eat Me' cakes with powdered sugar, please."

There were a few lazy clacks of the register keys as the teen droned, "That'll be twenty-four dollars. Would you like that for here or to go?"

"To go."

Handing over my credit card, I realized how poor I was becoming. Could I even afford this? My mind raced as I tallied up the expenses for the past month such as the cost of fabric and miscellaneous sewing materials, my portion of the rent to Myra, my cell phone bill, my gas bill, and, dear God no, my credit card bill. I'd better get this job or I might as well head over to the homeless shelter.

I was so lost in my thoughts of begging for money on the streets and fashioning clothing out of cardboard material. I barely realized that my shoulder was being tapped and that I was holding up the line. I stepped aside into the waiting area and I opened my mouth to apologize when I was confronted by the most horrific sight. My ex as of seven months, Luke Dalton, and his fiancée, Francine Whatsherface.

"Corrine, I thought I recognized that red hair! How nice to see you!" Luke said in such a forced tone that convinced me of the exact opposite. His fiancée, Francine, had an unattractive sneer on her even more unattractive face as she clung to Luke's arm like she were a cat and Luke was the last sliver of rotting sardine in the alley. They both looked like they wanted to strangle me. I don't doubt that I look the same.

"Luke, Franny," I added to irk her even more so than she already was, "I didn't expect to see you guys here in Manhattan. Don't you live in Queens?"

"Actually, we live in a darling loft in Soho now seeing as how we're getting married in a few months and we're on our way to meet a wedding planner a few blocks down." Flipping her shiny bob, Franny interjected as if it were meant to bother me.

My mouth spouted, "A loft? How interesting, not planning on having children anytime soon?"

"Well, we'll have plenty of time after we're married to settle down. After all, we both have careers to think about. Which brings me to say, how's your job down in Mario's? Still waiting tables?"

I spotted the furled newspaper with that little article about Sasha-Food debacle in Francine's hand and her smirk confirmed that she already knew the truth. Ugh, I hate seeing her so smug, in her smug little vesty crop top and high waisted jeans with her smug Prada cross body. Francine is so smug that I bet her farts had an air of condescension that is if she farts at all. I bet she thinks bodily functions are beneath her too. And to think that she was only an intern when we met, Francine still thought she was so much better than me and I wanted to prove her wrong so badly that it physically made me ill. How dare this little intern with her native New Yorker hipness come into my life and steal my boyfriend and what my life could have been? I would've knocked the teeth into her smug mouth if I wasn't so scared of her.

Every fiber of my being trembled with a combination of anger and frustration until a soothing palm rested on my shoulder. Luke and Francine stared at something behind me and I turned back in curiosity. There, appearing to my rescue once again was Dominic freaking Strata, glowing and serious like a holy figure come to life.

"Corrine, are you alright? You've been taking a while and I wanted to check on you." Glancing over towards Luke and Franny, Dominic said, "Oh, hello. Are you friends of Corrine?"

For once, Franny was speechless.

"Erm, yes, we're old friends." Luke spoke, looking towards me with a meaningful yet hurt look. "And who might you be?"

"Dominic, meet Luke. Luke, meet my boyfriend, Dominic." My mouth had no boundaries.

"Really?" Luke looked even more injured and I felt instant satisfaction at the sight.

Dominic looked at me funny but conceded to the lie, "Yep, we're dating. Corrine and I are…dating."

"But you're Dominic Strata." Francine said in a small voice, her fingers wringing the tabloid in her clutch. "You were dating Sasha de Bonne..."

"Yes, well, you've seen how that worked out." Dominic said pointedly, noticing the newspaper in her hands. "Now, Corrine's the new light of my life…and the fresh air in my lungs…the tea to my scone…the saddle to my horse…"

Not too subtle, I nudged Dominic to tell him he was overcompensating and no longer making sense. I couldn't help but notice Francine gazing towards the two of us, her expression morphing from fright to confusion to comprehension in the manner of a hateful kaleidoscope. Her smirk pasted itself back onto her face and Francine straightened herself before speaking further.

Clearing her throat far too loudly, Francine said, "How sweet, you two make a great couple! Well, Luke and I were just asking Corrine if she'd like to come over for dinner sometime."

"We did?" Luke scratched his head, yowling when Francine dug her elbow into his ribs.

"Of course we did, honey. So, what do you think, Corrine? You're obviously not too busy at the moment." Francine looked at me challengingly and I fought the urge to jump her. I'm better than this…I hope.

Then to my surprise, Dominic interjected, "Not at all. We'd love to come."

"We would?"

Dominic gave my shoulder a squeeze as he nodded. His tone became less friendly and more authoritarian. "Give us a time and the place and we'll love to come over."

Francine was unfazed, scribbling onto a scrap of paper. Slapping it into my hand, Francine smiled, "Next Friday at our place. It was great seeing you, Corrine, and very lovely to meet you, Dominic. Luke and I look forward to spending time with the…_two _of you."

Francine ordered Luke to grab their coffees and exited the shop as he trailed behind like a puppy.

"Are you okay, Corrine?" Dominic gave a friendly squeeze to my shoulder again.

It was until that point that I realize my body was shaking uncontrollably. My hands were balled into fists so tight that my nails dug into my skin, leaving deep half-moon imprints on my palms. Tears had run down my cheeks until they were coated in slick wetness. I wanted to punch a brick wall and curl up into a ball simultaneously. My surroundings looked black and felt as if they were closing in, making it difficult to breathe. I didn't even notice how angry I was until Luke and that girl left. I wanted the two of them to go to hell in their stupid Soho loft. I wanted them to grow old with each other and grow to hate each other with each year they have to spend. I felt as if I were dipped into a vat of acid only to reemerge as this angry, pitiful creature. This feeling clawed at my mind with acidic thoughts and I am reminded of a time when that was all I felt. It was terrifying to feel like this again, to feel so hateful and miserable and to feel so human.

"You're on for eleven 'o clock." Dominic smiled.

"Thank you." That gave me about an hour or so to get there which is all I really needed.

Then, we just sat and ate our cakes. The humiliation of seeing my former fiancée and his new fiancée had ebbed away until I just felt numb. Dominic was more than kind by not speaking about it. Though, I could see the pity he felt for me etched on his handsome features. Pity that I was used to seeing from my old friends, pity that nobody wants.

Finally, I spoke, "I'm sorry that I lied. You don't have to come. They already know the truth and I don't want to waste anymore of your time with my pathetic life. Besides, I wouldn't want to subject you to her cooking. Even the CIA found that to be too extreme for torture."

Dominic chuckled and took another bite of cake. "No, I'll go. At the risk of sounding unprofessional, I've always wanted a fake girlfriend." An odd barking laugh sprung from my lips as I stared at him nervously. "Besides, I want to wipe those smirks straight off of their faces. I just hate the way they looked at you, like you were undeserving of their presence."

I raised my eyebrow in curiosity and reassured him, "Thanks but you've already helped enough. The thing is, though, I'm not going. I never want to see them ever again no matter how irrational that sounds. I just want to be done with them."

Dominic frowned, his face contorted in an odd, stubborn expression like a child who's been told that there are no more of his favorite candy left. "So that's it? You're going to give up? You're going to let those losers think that they're better than you? Is that what you want? For them to think that you're the loser?"

"What?" There was hesitation before I responded, flustered, "No!"

"Good. Then, it's settled. I'll pick you up at seven next Friday. Now, I must leave, I have business to attend to in the next hour. Godfrey will drive you down to Strata and drop you off. Thank you for the change of clothes and breakfast, Corrine. I'll see you next Friday."

Before I could protest, Dominic patted my head as if I were a puppy, gave me a grin, and walked off as swiftly and as briskly as he could manage. I opened my mouth to say something back but my mouth refused to make a sound. I slumped back into my seat and shoved the remainder of my powdered cake into my mouth. Well, how awkward could this be? I mean it's only just dinner with my ex and his fiancée along with my potential boss as my "date." It couldn't be that bad, right?

"Are you ready?" A posh voice asked me.

Still thinking about Dominic, I said absentmindedly, "No, not at all."

"Are you sure Miss Flynn? Your interview is in thirty minutes and I'm not sure we'll make it on time if we don't leave now."

It was at that point that I realized that I couldn't be talking to myself because I sounded too polite. Looking up, my eyes met the sight of an elderly man in a fitted suit along with a burgundy ascot wrapped around his skinny, wrinkled neck. He had comically large round glasses over a pair warm brown eyes lined in crows feet. He looked like he could have been my grandfather although there was this healthy glow to his entire form as if he were in the prime of his life.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't notice you there." I allowed myself to chuckle as I admitted, "I thought I was talking to myself for a moment."

The man gave me a strange look and cleared his throat, "Allow me to introduce myself, I am Godfrey Smyth, Dominic's butler. I'm sure that you've met my granddaughter, Olivia or as you know her, Libby, before."

"Of course, she's my friend." Libby had mentioned her grandfather before since he was the only family she had left but she never told me much or anyone else for that matter. It was as if she was embarrassed by him. "She's mentioned you once or twice but I've never had the pleasure of meeting you before."

Godfrey coughed nervously, "Yes, well…Libby is a lovely but shy girl." Libby? Lovely and shy? I wanted to laugh as I imagined all the times when Libby burped in my face or clipped her toenails in public. I love Libby however that did not sound like her.

"Well, Miss Flynn, are you ready to leave?" Miss Flynn? I haven't been called that since well…ever.

"Sure, Mister Smyth, just give me a moment to clear my table and we'll be off."

Godfrey picked up my wrapper before I could and said, "Please allow me and call me Godfrey, Mister Smyth makes me feel old and stuffy."

Then, I quipped none too kindly, "Then please call me Corrine, Miss Flynn makes me feel old and stuffy."

Godfrey stared at me for a moment before chuckling under his breath. "As you wish Corrine."

"So, Miss Fly—I mean Corrine. Were you born in New York?" Godfrey asked as he drove down the street in a fancy black town car. I felt like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast in Tiffany's, a "commoner" surrounded by luxury. The car probably cost more than Myra's penthouse and definitely more than everything I owned.

"No, I was born and raised in Boston, Massachusetts." The mere mention of "home" made me sick and I focused on fiddling with my compact instead.

"Oh, Boston? Libby's mother went to Boston University in the eighties and I've visited a few times. I have to say Boston is quite a charming city, rich with culture."

It's hilarious how that statement is always said to me when I mention Boston in a variety of ways and it's the easiest way to gauge whether the person is lying or not. Godfrey sounded like every other person who lied about visiting Boston but I don't hold it against him since he's Libby's grandfather. It was a long time since he's visited after all.

"I noticed that you aren't affected with a Boston accent however."

"Oh, that's because I was born in Boston and then stayed in Springfield for a few years before moving back." Without a second thought, I had left out a few details because I didn't want to tell him that I was born with a stutter, which my parents were ashamed of, and put into a highly recommended hospital in Springfield for speech therapy for the next few years, ridding me of both my stutter and Bostonian accent. I didn't want to make the car ride awkward.

"I see, how interesting. Was there any specific reason?"

"Not really, my parents couldn't afford Boston for a few years so we moved to Springfield for a few years because of my father's job before he was promoted back to Boston." Okay, I lied that time but again I hate making things awkward. "So, did Libby's mother stay in Boston after graduating?"

"Oh no, she moved back home in Cardiff to look after my ailing wife."

"Dominic lived in Cardiff?"

"No, not at all, he lived in Japan along with the rest of his family, including myself. In fact, he wasn't even born at the time my daughter was in Cardiff. Sadly, the two never even met each other. No, Mister Strata moved to London when he was thirteen along with his older sister Sabina and younger sister Mara to stay with their aunt, for their education of course. I was sent to care for them. His parents felt that the schooling system in Japan may be too harsh for their children after a teacher struck Sabina with a ruling stick across her hand."

"Wow, Dominic must have had a hard time in London."

"Of course, Mister Strata couldn't even say 'Hello.'"

"If Dominic moved to London when he was thirteen, how did he get a British accent?"

Godfrey let out a creaking laugh, "Mister Strata was teased constantly when he first moved there, his sisters not as much because they were so pretty, but the gangly, glasses-wearing boy with a thick Asian accent certainly called for unwarranted attention. That year, Mister Strata the determined young boy he was, actually spent his nights learning English on his own. He received a set of books along with recordings to aid him and by imitating the words as how they were pronounced on the recording, which was with an accent, Mister Strata learned or at least pretended to know the English language. He managed to astonish his classmates one day by speaking as if he were one of them! That year, Mister Strata not only learned a new language but also a new accent!"

I laughed in surprise, remembering the dogged expression on Dominic's face. I could definitely see that happening, a young Dominic stooped over a thick book in the middle of the night as he adjusted his glasses as he mimicked a disembodied voice in an effort to say "Hello, my name is Dominic." I realized that Dominic and I had something in common we both worked hard on our speech in an effort to please someone else, him with his classmates and me with my parents. Dominic Strata was turning out to be something I hadn't seen in a while, a pleasant surprise.

"Have a nice day, Godfrey. Hopefully, we'll see each other soon." I said in a friendly tone, my hand on the door.

"I wish the same to you as well, Corrine." Godfrey saluted me before I shut the door and he drove off.

* * *

><p>Tugging the collar of my powder-blue coat around my neck, I stared at the bold, solid letters above me spelling out "STRATA." Strata, the one name I'll come to either associate with embarrassment or joy in the next hour. Pushing my way through the gold revolving door, I stumble none too gracefully into an entirely different world made of flowery perfume, marble tiles and counters, vibrant clothing on golden racks, pop music pulsating through the speakers above, and a horde of fabulously dressed women creating utter chaos. When I mean chaos, take it from me, someone who's worked in a family-oriented restaurant, I mean a maelstrom of women literally fighting each other for a pair of strappy snakeskin heels or a gold tube dress and attacking a poor stylish employee as she attempts to restore order into the wild customers. The customers were mostly young, well-dressed women and almost zombie like in demeanor and I began to wonder if this was the set of a new zombie movie staring Hilary Duff, in which she was like Buffy, slaying fashion-obsessed zombies while finding bargains. Staring at a bright mint banner that announced a sale on everything in the store for thirty to fifty percent off, I palmed my forehead, remembering the how a few days before I was ogling that pair of Sonata shoes that were on sale after being fired from Mario's. How could I forget? These events were so random and rare it was like spotting a double rainbow or Sasquatch. Certainly, I chose the best time to come in for an interview.<p>

"Are you the newbie?" Pale, bony fingers clutch my shoulder from behind causing me to squeak in surprise and face a pale, pretty, tired woman. After a moment of awkward silence, the woman said, "I'm assuming that's a yes. I'm Grace Wright, the manager of this wonderful place." I couldn't help but hear the sarcasm in her strained voice as she shoved through the crowd in front of the registers. "Listen, can you operate a cash register?"

As soon as I nodded my head, Grace shoved me towards a register and abandoned me on the spot with a quick, "You've got it!"

Wait…I've got it?

Today was not a good day. Slumping against the wall in the stock room, I buried my head in my hands. I got the job alright. The job in Hell. Let's see now, the instant I walked into the store, an impeccably dressed woman with maroon hair named Grace Wright torpedoes her way through the ocean of boisterous shoppers. She grabs my arm and asks if I'm the newbie, which I let her assume that yes I am the newbie. Then, she drags me to a waiting line in front of a cash register and tells me to ring them up. Without a word, she leaves me to the horde of wealthy vultures who all wield their French manicured nails well. I completely forgot that Strata was having a sale even though I was pressing my face up the glass of the store window the day before. Luckily numerous jobs in the restaurant industry prepared me for this and I lived. I'm alive, all right, with a pounding migraine. It feels like a hammer is pounding a chisel with incredible force like a brutish artist with no aim. At least the day is over and I have a job.

"Corrine? Are you in here?" Red light reflecting off her hair indicated that Grace had arrived. Grace looked just as tired as I felt, her pretty features stretched into a haggard mess. She saw me on the floor in my pitiful state and gently asked, "What are you doing in here? Don't you want to go home? You've got the job."

"Uh…" My brain was fried to the point where I can only make a groaning sound.

"I know today was screwed up but that was the last day of the sale so things will slow down. Renee and I feel so terrible for making you do all that work. It was totally messed up." She offered me gum which I accepted gratefully.

"Thank you. How do you live like this?"

Grace laughed wearily, "It isn't always this hellish. Most days, it's quiet and relaxing with regulars and the occasional new customers."

"But how do you survive 'these' days?"

She paused for a moment. "Well, I always loved fashion and I believe that clothes can help a person feel great in difficult times, no matter how superficial, the right dress or top can always brighten someone's day. Besides my mom works in _Nuances_ as a fashion editor, so I've always been around fashion. And don't worry, the next sale will be in a few months and by then, you should be prepared. You held up pretty well today, Corrine, most newbies have a small breakdown during their first sale."

Checking my watch, I said, "Thanks, I think today was just overwhelming but with some sleep I'll probably feel better."

"Yep, I have to go too. Having dinner with my fiancée and his parents; it's their first time in New York so I get to show them around because my fiancée only moved here a year ago." Her face lit up like a string of lights on a Christmas tree and I can't help but put on a smile. We both left in the same direction, conversation flowing from our lips as smoothly as a river flows from a lake, until we reach my sister's penthouse building.

"I'll see you later, Grace."

"You too, Corrine. I'm glad that I'll be working with you from now on."

"Same." Grace engulfed me in a warm embrace and I take a moment to appreciate the fact that I finally have a boss who's nice. Thinking back to Dominic, my lips break out into a big grin as I correct myself. Two, I have two nice bosses. Surprise.

* * *

><p><strong>I know this chapter is long over due and I'm sorry about being late. I had another case of writer's block and this time it really tried to kill any source of creativity that came up. I probably sound like an asshole with these excuses but I'm back on a writer's high so hopefully I'll be able to churn out a few more chapters since this story is my priority for the moment. There are a few things that I'll be changing to the story, which may or may not concern Grace. And, I did draw my own cover for this story, it's not the best since I colored it with watercolors as my family drove on a bumpy road which can only "improve" the quality of it. Anyway, thanks to all the kind reviews and I'm sorry to have kept anyone waiting long, that is if anyone still reads this. Anyway, review if you want, do whatever you want with this story, flame it, favorite it, ignore it. I hope everyone, or anyone, enjoyed this story and hopefully, I'll be more motivated to write more.<br>**


	6. My Coworkers Travel in Packs

"Corrine?" A shadow eclipses the glaring beam from above as Grace's concerned face came into my view. Strata has been opened for several hours and yet, we haven't had a customer since, which most of my coworkers took as a cue to go on a "quick" coffee run while leaving me to take care of the shop. As furtively as possible, I attempted to take a quick nap at the customer service desk, considering the fact that the store had become a veritable wasteland. However, the universe must love basking me in all the marvelous bad luck in the world to have had my boss catch me taking a quickie nap on my first real day of work.

"Hey, Grace! I didn't expect you to come in so early!" I piped up much too enthusiastically, straightening myself up to compensate for my formerly slumped posture.

"Well, why wouldn't you?"

_Because my "great" coworkers ingrained it into my mind the fact that you never ever come into the shop earlier than eleven 'o clock_, my mind bitched as I smiled cheerfully and apologetically enough to convince Grace that I was not as sick or as incompetent as I appeared. It wasn't her fault that she came in for work at a reasonable time.

"They told you that I'd come in later, huh." In an understanding tone, Grace exhaled while managing to look as calm as one could muster if all of her subordinates, except for one naïve newbie, had ditched work for a shot of caffeine. Gently, Grace nudged my head back down as she said, "Take your nap, I'll straighten this out."

"Straighten what out, Grace?" And at that moment, my lovely coworkers returned with the ringleader at the helm, Renee Strom. Renee raised her brows in surprise at the sight of Grace and then, focused her gaze towards me, causing me to squirm. Holding out a cup of coffee, Renee offered, "We got you something too, Grace. C'mon lighten up."

"I better not catch you doing this again. That goes for all of you." Looking none too pleased, Grace accepted the cup and walked off to her office. Once the door of her office clicked shut, everyone cornered me against the desk with the ferocity of ten angry lions, glaring unblinkingly at me.

"Okay, cough up the deets." Renee's eyes gazed at me so seriously I began to believe that in her previous life she was an interrogator of some kind.

"What 'deets?' I didn't say a word to Grace, she assumed on her own." My shoulders shrugged indifferently as I braced myself for an onslaught of passive aggressive bitchiness that was guaranteed with girls like Renee.

Surprisingly, Renee was not the passive aggressive type, what she was a bitch. "Oh please, Grace isn't smart enough to figure that out, why didn't you just tell her we were in the stockroom?"

I could feel myself growing impatient with Renee's implied accusation that I sold her and the rest of my coworkers out to our boss. "Doing what? Getting a pumpkin spice latte? I'm sure Grace would be surprised to learn that we have a fully operating barista in our stockroom. Besides, I couldn't say anything since you guys came in a few minutes after she did."

"Well, you should have tried instead of grossly slobbering on the desk." Renee snapped, pointing out the small pool of drool I had left in the short time I had slept. Nervous giggles surrounded me as I shrunk back into my blazer in embarrassment.

"Quit it, Renee. It sounds, to me, like the jig was up from the start." A pretty woman said, the front doors closing behind her with a curt clacking sound as if to emphasize her point. Hushed silence ensued.

Turning her back to me, Renee huffed prissily. "Whatever, Felicity. So, what do you want?"

"I'm here to see Dominic, he said he'd be in Grace's office."

"Really?" A murmur ran through the crowd in front of me as my coworkers whispered excitedly about Dominic as if he were an elusive mythical creature.

"Yep, it's just an interview for _Nuances_ and a photo shoot in the store." This statement caused the girls to erupt into a fit of excited giggles and squeals. It was at that moment that I could see how bright their smiles shone, how shiny their eyes glittered, and how hopeful their voices sounded. I wondered how much more they would despise me for knowing him on a slightly more personal basis.

"Oh. Em. Gee. Dominic's coming here!?" As a representative for the overly excited women, Renee piped up enthusiastically.

Felicity looked at Renee with a strange look as if Renee was either the most sarcastic or the dumbest girl on Earth. Slowly, with deliberation, Felicity repeated her statement. "Yes, Dominic is coming to Strata, well actually, he was supposed to be here by now…but I guess he's not."

"What the hell are you guys doing out here? Throwing a tea party?!" Stomping out of her office, Grace looked irate and all the girls scattered to their posts. Walking down the stairs, Grace spotted Felicity and her grimace softened into a wistful smile. Grace's slender arms swept out in an elegant manner, wrapping Felicity in an affectionate hug.

"Hey, Gracie."

"Felicity, it's great to see you. Dominic said he'll be here in a couple minutes, the traffic is holding up pretty bad."

"Typical New York."

"Let's go to my office," Grace hooked her arm casually around Felicity's shoulder and looked back towards me, "Corrine, do you mind if you go to the coffee shop down the street and get us some food? I'll give you the money, all we need is a peppermint mocha, caramel coffee, four small bottles of sparkling water, and a couple of snacks to go along with it. Any snacks are fine but no almonds or peanuts."

Knowing that disagreeing would end up with both my boss hating me along with my coworkers, I nodded and accepted the money Grace had proffered. Before the razor sharp glares could hit me, I was out the door, my heavy heather gray scarf swathed around my neck and forty dollars crumpled in my hand.

* * *

><p>As I relayed Grace's orders to the overwhelmed cafe employee, I felt myself slowly warming up, my cold muscles loosening up in the warmth of the cozy café. As I waited in the queue of others waiting for a cup of hot deliciousness, I found myself growing sleepy from the warmth that surrounded me. Then, I felt myself lose my balance for a moment, bumping into someone behind me as I composed myself.<p>

"Ah," I said embarrassed, "I'm sorry."

The voice behind me murmured, "No problem, Corrine."

I felt my breath escape my lungs as I recognized the voice from behind me. "Luke…"

* * *

><p><strong>MJO: So, it's been awhile but please don't kill me, I was busy with college, which is a legitimate excuse. I'm really sorry for being so late with this story; I mean I know how the story will go, it's just been a matter of inspiration and time that got in the way. Thank you to everyone who still follows this story. By the way, since the final document was thirteen pages, I decided to upload it into a couple of chapters, which is kind of like cheating but at least you get more than one chapter. <strong>


	7. Hate isn't a Strong Enough Word

What is up with Luke and cafes? When we went out, he wouldn't dare step into what he calls "chick-flick scenery," which would not only include cafes but also department stores, parks, or frozen yogurt shops. Huh. It's funny how some people would love you but never to the point where they would compromise and then they meet someone else and rush to cater to that person's wants, often changing the very fiber of their being. Bitterly, I felt myself deflate at the idea of Luke changing for someone like Francine.

With a purse of his lips, Luke shrugged indifferently, "I'm just here to get a nonfat soy latte."

"Alright, Franny." My voice was sarcastic while I tried to sound as joking as possible, as long as he doesn't know I still care, deeply.

Luke wrinkled his eyebrows and pushed me out of the way with such coldness that I felt disappointed. He doesn't even care anymore, it's gotten to the point where he'll just push me out of the way without a word. I suppose I shouldn't complain, it's easier this way. Still, deep down, in that lightless place, I wanted him to respond, to care enough to say or do something so that I know it was me, who left him, and not vice versa.

Then, Luke spun on his heel, a look of pure anger painted on his face. His latte spilling out of the cup as his hand shook; he said indignantly, "You have no right to act like this. There's a reason I left you and this is part of it. We're done, so grow up and move on."

I felt my breathing become heavy as I attempted to control myself, my head pounding like a drum being beaten by a manic drummer. Wasn't this what I wanted though? Then, I remember just what he told me, and my fist tightened into a ball. I have no right?! The metallic taste of blood spread on my tongue as my lip bleed from excessive biting. My mouth opened to respond but not a single sound would spill out. Red hot anger flashed through my mind and I nearly considered homicide. Yet, the expression on Luke's face wasn't one of satisfaction or fury, he seemed disillusioned as if I were a child who would never learn how to behave no matter how much he reasoned with me. It was that expression that set me off, my hand flew out and swatted the stupid soy latte from his hand, spilling the contents onto the hard floor of the café.

In response, Luke stared at me and kept staring as I collected my order and stormed out of the café. Even then, I could feel his unblinking eyes trained on my back as if I were some sort of prey. Never before has anyone, not even Frannie, has every looked at me like that and I wished that I would never come across another pair of eyes so unblinking and hateful as Luke's.

Fortunately, the girls were all busy when I entered Strata, either catering to a shopper or ringing up a purchase. Weaving my way through the obstacle course Strata had become, I managed to reach Grace's office without spilling a drop of the caffeinated elixir. Rapping on the door with three curt knocks, my hands begun to shake from the weight of it all and my mind was still replaying the scene in the café in my head. Suddenly, the door swung open and Grace's face brought me back to reality.

"Corrine, this is great! Thanks a lot, you did me a huge favor." Grace sounded like the happiest person ever to get a couple cups of coffee, a few bottles of sparkling water, and a couple scones and bagels. Before I could retreat, I felt myself being pulled into Grace's office literally. "Hey, why don't you hang out with us for a while? We're just waiting for the photographer, she's a newbie like you so maybe you will be able to relate. If you want, you can stay and watch the photo shoot go down too."

The condescension in Grace's tone was palpable but I found myself nodding my head and letting out a haggard laugh. Besides Grace, there were only six other people, Monica, the hairstylist, Neve, the makeup artist, Katie, the stylist, Lanie, the model, Felicity, the journalist, and last but not least, Dominic, the CEO of Strata. Everyone greeted me warmly as I halfheartedly returned the courtesy and took a seat on the cushy sofa, next to Dominic, who seemed to beam at the sight of me.

"Hi, Corrine, nice to see you again."

Absentmindedly, I nodded again without mustering up any emotion. He seemed to falter at my dullness and passed me a scone, urging me to eat. Knowing that he wouldn't relent anytime soon, I took the scone grudgingly, nibbling the fragrant bread like a tepid animal.

"Rough night?" Despite the sincerity in his concern, I was annoyed frankly at how blissfully dumb he looked and the urge to be sarcastic crept onto me. Instead of responding, I shoved the scone into my mouth and chewed slowly.

"We're still on for Friday night next week, right?" God, he's relentless. In curt motions, I nodded my head resentfully. "Good, I'm almost anxious about it but it'll be great, we'll show them up even if we're fake. How's your first sale-free day going?"

"Good," I said noncommittally. When I said this Grace's smile widened subtly and I felt myself lighten up a bit. It's not anyone's fault that Luke was being a jerk but his own. "Yeah, it was pretty uneventful but I'm always excited for that rather than feeling overwhelmed by a sale. And, my coworkers are great too, so, I'm having a good time."

"That's good, I'm glad you're having fun at work." Dominic smiled to himself, not knowing that everyone else could see him doing so.

Then, a shaky voice piped up, "Um, Corrine, did you order anything with almonds or peanuts?"

We all turned to Katie, a petite blonde, who looked as if she was going to vomit or keel over or both. Thinking back on my order, I said, "No, I don't think so, I specifically asked for nothing with almonds or peanuts…Oh shit, I did ask for a few almond cookies for myself…You didn't, did you?"

Frantically, Katie nodded her head, her throat already swelled and her complexion splotchy red, as Grace starting calling for an ambulance. My body shook uncontrollably and my eyes began to water as I sat frozen on the couch, my legs becoming leaden. Feeling a warm hand on my back, I knew it was Dominic but nothing could have comforted me in that moment. I couldn't look at Katie, knowing that if I did I would collapse into a teary mess. Instead, I stared at the painting that hung across from me, it was a painting of a forested landscape that seemed to be aglow with warmth and I wished for more than anything that I could be there. Some nondescript place so that no one could find me and I couldn't poison anyone else literally or figuratively. Even as Katie was taken into the ambulance, my eyes never left the painting and my mind never left the forested land where I couldn't hurt anyone or be hurt myself. My first day and I nearly killed someone. The moral of this story is that I really should just stay in my room by myself, where I can't hurt anyone but myself.


	8. Take a Chance

"Come on," Dominic's voice called from above and when I refused to look up, he crouched down so that his eyes met mine, his green with sparkling clarity and mine also green but with dull vacancy. Cupping my jaw gently, Dominic's hand gently moved my head so that I made complete eye contact with him. "It's not your fault, it was an accident and we got her some help early on. Katie will be okay, she's a fighter."

When I didn't respond, Dominic put his hands around my arms and lifted me up. Finally, I snapped out of my reverie and protested, "I'm fine. You don't have to coddle me!"

"La la la," Dominic sang as he dragged me out of Grace's office and told her, "Grace, I'll be out for thirty minutes, just getting some fresh air. Tell Felicity."

At first, Grace, like me, protested until Dominic gestured towards my haggard self. Understandingly, Grace bobbed her head and Dominic thanked her as he led me out the door. I never knew cold air could be so refreshing.

* * *

><p>Dominic was right, fresh air did do me good. The chilled breeze brushed away my tears and the hot cider Dominic bought me, warmed up my body internally. For the first time today, I felt okay, I wasn't as tired as before, I wasn't annoyed, I wasn't angry, and I wasn't teary anymore. The boulders resting on my chest were lifted slightly so that I finally could catch my breath.<p>

"Thanks."

"No problem, I used to get like that when I was a child and into adulthood. The first time the anxiety hurt as much as it ever could have was when I started working for Strata. Anxiety was my demon, hiding behind me and whispering evil thoughts into my ears, and there were moments throughout the day that felt unlivable. The only way to make my life seem remotely livable was to clear my mind and take deep breathes. Fresh air really does help, it's not the antidote but it is the painkiller. It's what drowned out my demon."

"Does it get better?"

"If you don't treat it, then, no, the heaviness just gets heavier, the demon brings friends. It wasn't until I was CEO that I got help for my anxiety If you know how to deal with your demons, then, it only takes time to exorcise them."

Changing the subject, I asked something that bothered me ever since I met Dominic, "Can you tell me something? Don't lie, tell me honestly."

"Sure, I don't see why not."

"Why do you like me so much?"

"Who says I do?" Even as he said that, I could see his cheeks flush a rosy tint.

I put it bluntly, "Everything you do, that concerns me, has been nothing but nice things. I can't tell if you're naturally charitable or if you're doing this because you think I'm cute. I don't want to be impudent but I'm also not in fifth grade, just tell me 'yes' or 'no.'"

"Yeah," He faltered for a moment, "Yes, I like you. I think you're 'cute' and there's something charming about you, if I may say so."

"Well, please, don't say so or think so. I appreciate what you do for me, but I can't let it ever get to a point where I would take advantage of you. I'm not saying that I' would do that but you never know. It's not charitable or kind to do things with an ulterior motive, it's unhealthy. I don't want you to suffer from my ulterior motives if they ever come to concern you."

"Fine, only I'll stop treating you so 'nicely,' if you allow me to take you out on a date once. If you really don't feel an attraction to me, then, fine, I'll just be your friend. If you do, then, I figure we both know how that's going to go." His hand stretched out towards me, waiting for my move. I couldn't see the harm.

Taking his hand with mine, I said with a tone of finality, "Deal."

Dominic smiled and we raised our cups of lukewarm cider in solidarity.


	9. Pop Quiz

"Get her out of here!" Felicity's shriek filled the air and I considered turning around in the other direction and never returning to Strata. Catching my expression, Dominic tightened his hand around my arm and gave me a confident grin as if that would help. As Grace spotted us from her office and made her way towards us, the two of us gave her our best efforts at a casual grin.

Through clenched teeth, I whispered, "Let me go, man. I've had enough of this shit for today."

He whispered back to me, also through clenched teeth. "Not a chance. You had your opportunity."

Dominic's hand tightened its grip on my arm as Grace approached us, a faint whisper of a smile on her lips.

Defeated, I let out a hiss, "Well, you've lost a couple points, boy."

"Oh thank heavens, you guys came, we're so lost, Dominic. I'm no expert stylist, it's been years since my prime and oh…." Grace moaned this horrible wail and I anticipated for the worst, "Renee."

Dominic and I exchanged glances as Grace rubbed her forehead in understandable annoyance. Then, Felicity exited the shop, looking absolutely red with rage. Gritting her teeth, Felicity shook her finger at Dominic, "Get her away from the shoot. Or I'll give that little bitch a different kind of shot. Seriously, Dominic, if you want this story to be good, you're going to want to get that little wretch away from my model and away from my photographer."

Finally letting go of my arm, Dominic held up his hands skeptically, "Okay, okay, She couldn't have been that bad, right?"

I had to agree with Dominic, Renee may be a handful but I doubt that even she could inspire this much unadulterated rage.

Both Grace and Felicity gazed at him with a look of cold brutality. As we all made our way back into the office, I could hear Felicity murmur murderously, "Oh, just see."

"Oh come one, Lily! I'm like the assistant to the manager of Strata, I'm practically in charge of this place!" Well, Renee is persistent.

Then, I swore I heard another familiar voice respond in a strained exasperated tone. "For the last time, it's Libby! Moreover, it doesn't matter if you're in charge of Strata or not unless you are the CEO, okay! The article is on high powered bachelors in fashion and I doubt you qualify!"

"Libby?" I said as I stared at my friend, who seemed poised to knock out Renee with her camera, with Lanie, who was buried underneath a hideous combination of clothes.

"Corrine, nice to see ya," Libby flashed her usual goofy grin but was obviously overwhelmed, "Can you help me, this chick is relentless."

"Renee," There was an unctuous smoothness to his voice as Dominic took a firm grip of Renee's shoulders and looked into her eyes with feigned concern, "We all know you're a great stylist but you've had a long day, catering to so many customers and satisfying their every orders."

"You're right," Renee said in a trance, hypnotized by Dominic's mesmerizing eyes. Then, in the same manner as he acted with me, Dominic led the poor girl out of the door, whispering sweet nothings with the sneakiness of a charming salesman. He was a true blue salesman that's for sure. Yet, something in the back of my mind massaged doubt and suspicion into my thoughts and I wondered how many girls, besides Renee and me, did he do this to, saying charming lies to get what he wanted?

Still, as soon as Renee's petite high-heeled feet went over the threshold of the office, we all exhaled in relief. Giving Libby a hug, I said, "You should have told me that you were coming, I could have told you how to get here."

"Oh, it's totally fine, I can manage on my own."

"Well, do you want to get dinner when we're done?"

"Sure, besides, Olivia wanted me to tell you that we're going out to Danny's tonight."

"Ugh, like I need another hangover. I'm barely surviving this one." I groaned comically, inciting giggles out of Libby.

"Girls, I hate to disturb you guys but we're going to need Libby soon so wrap up the chit chat." Entering the room, Dominic shook Libby's hand as if they were meeting for the first time, "Pleasure, Dominic Strata. I have faith that you know what you're doing so let's get started."

Libby said evenly, unimpressed by Dominic's ordinarily impressive presence. "Libby, and I do know, so shall we get Lanie into wardrobe and makeup as Felicity finishes her interview with you?"

"Of course, Dominic," Now calm, Felicity asked for everyone to clear out of the office for thirty minutes so that Felicity and Dominic could have a quiet environment.

"Come on," I said to Libby, "Want to see me dress up some people?"

"More than I want to see you undress people, just kidding."

"Oh, hardy har har." Before I could say anything wittier, a woman approached us and I fought the urge to squeal at the sight of her.

"Hello, I'm Zoe," Lifting her oversized sunglasses and pushing back her platinum blonde bangs with them, Zoe said, an accent that could be defined as African altered the pronunciation her words, "I don't usually come to stores, to be honest, I'm more of an online shopper but this is a special case. May we find some place more private to discuss this?"

Libby and I looked at each in skepticism. Turning back to Zoe, I said, "I don't see why not, would you like me to take you to a dressing room?"

Biting her lip, Zoe nodded nervously, inspecting her surroundings as if she suspected that there were hidden paparazzi in the store. When we found a dressing room, Zoe breathed a heavy sigh of relief not unlike the ones Libby and I breathed just moments before. "Alright, I suppose I should just come on out with it, though it is just terribly embarrassing. Honestly, I've never felt so mortified. Promise me that neither of you would say a word of this outside of the dressing room, please, it could ruin me."

"I'm sure I won't say a word, and I don't think Libby is one to spill any secrets either."

"Yep, no worries. What happens in this dressing room stays in the dressing room."

With that statement, Zoe's tall body eased into a slouch and when she finally spoke, she barely said much, mumbling a bit, "My mmm mmmm…"

"Excuse me?" I asked but then was cut off by Libby, who whispered into my ear.

"Corrine, her jeans ripped."

"Oh." I said slowly.

"Oh." Libby said knowingly.

"Oh." Zoe said dejectedly.

"Well, it's not a problem. Do you have any specific brands in mind?"

"Well, there's Alvarado, but I only have thirty bucks on me. Wait, hold on up, don't you want my size first?"

Grinning, Libby cut off the nervous model, "Oh, just watch, it's like watching a dog stand on its hind legs."

"Shut up." I mumbled, embarrassed.

"Well?" For someone whose choice of pants depended on another person, Zoe quickly became impatient.

"You used to be a size double-zero. Now you're a size two."

"Oh my god. But how?"

"It's just a dumb instinctive thing, like a hunch. I can do measurements for nearly everything. I could tell you your exact measurements but I doubt you want to know."

"Once, she got the mass of a cup of soda to the exact thousandth. We literally did this five times with different masses for each time!" Raising her arms above her head, Libby proclaimed the wonders of my ability as if it were an actual gift and not a dumb party trick.

"It's really not a big deal." I said, trying to keep calm. "Shall I bring all the jeans we have for twenty dollars or less?"

Without allowing her to answer, I left Zoe in the dressing room as Libby continued regaling the exploits of my "talent." As I looked through the racks of neatly hanged garments, I felt a presence from behind me as if I was being watched but every time I checked there was no one in sight or it was a coworker busy with their own customer. Curiously, I peeked over the racks to see Dominic and Felicity talking through the window of Grace's office until Felicity closed the blinds, making eye contact with me, and for a moment, I saw a strange look on her face before she reverted back to her normal collected self, a cheeky smile on her lips. Turning my attention back to finding a pair of inexpensive jeans, I found myself lost in sartorial bliss. To be completely honest, I didn't mind losing myself in fashion; it's the one form of expression that feels natural and tangible to me. I'm sure that's not the case for everyone but for me, I feel a sense of control over something in a world that is too fast and too wild. I'm surrounded by beauty and it makes me feel beautiful.

Finding four pairs of jeans, I walked back into the dressing room to find Libby taking pictures with Zoe, the former holding up the camera while sticking out her tongue and the latter making a hilariously contorted face. A chuckle escaped my lips and the girls turned to look at me in surprise.

"I brought some jeans," I said, holding up the pile of folded jeans. "Do you want to finish up or are you ready?"

"Oh yeah, thanks," Zoe said as Libby gathered her belongings.

"So, it only takes ten minutes before you become all chummy with my customers, huh?" I said jokingly to Libby as we waited outside of the dressing stall.

"Yep, schmoozing it up. A freelancing girl has to eat. It doesn't help making connections no matter how tenuous they are."

"At least this is your hobby. You still have Mario's to lean on, right?"

"Well…."

"You didn't, did you?" When Libby nodded, I groaned. "Libby, you can't just quit every time I get fired."

"Hey, it wasn't because of that. You just inspired me."

"Inspired you to become unemployed?"

"To become a freelancer." Libby corrected me, sounding a bit haughty for someone without a real job. "And once this shoot gets started, I'll be on my way to full-time employment."

Snorting, I said, "I doubt it. What did your grandfather say?"

"He supports me, so ha." Sticking her tongue out at me, Libby bragged, "In fact, he got Dominic to get me this job."

"Seriously? What's this guy doing giving out jobs like they're candy?"

"That doesn't sound like someone who appreciates her job."

"Well, it doesn't help that your boss gave you a job because he has a crush on you and not because you're a hard worker or that your coworkers hate you because they think you ratted them out."

"Umm." Libby mimed a throat-slitting gesture and I turned back to see Dominic look at me strangely.

Before I could defend myself, Dominic walked away stiffly and an overwhelming sense of guilt washed over me as I watched him. Part of me felt guilty for being so brutal and another felt relieved for being honest, or at least having him know the truth. I knew he wouldn't fire me; he's too nice and not enough of a self-absorbed prick. Another plus is that I'll get to avoid date night.

"I get the best luck." I said flatly and corrected myself, "I am grateful but this job has me feeling stressed already. I just need it to keep to me fed but all it does is give me anxiety attacks and opportunities to unknowingly attempt murder."

An expression of pity flashed on Libby's face before Zoe came out of the stall. A glow of bliss emanated from the tall model and she twirled around in a perfect pirouette. The dark denim Pure Cloth jeans casted over her legs snugly, accentuating the curves of her small hips and butt.

Hugging the two of us, Zoe exclaimed ebulliently, "It's perfect, everything fits! It feels wonderful not having to hear the terrible sound of fabric ripping."

Letting out a wry laugh, I said, "I'm glad. Would you like me to ring you up?"

Then, Zoe smiled a bashful smile, "Actually, I kind of want something else…"

"But those jeans are eighteen dollars, not including tax. I doubt we carry anything else that costs under a dollar."

"I lied…I actually have a gold card with me, so can you find me a top to go with these jeans?"

"Uh, I don't see why not." I said, feeling confused but pleased.

I've worked in retail for a couple years, but I have to admit that my customers rarely lied to me about something like this before. It's weird but harmless I guess. After searching through the racks, I found a couple selections that seemed to suit her and as I made my way back to the dressing rooms, I remembered that there was something that would have gone along with those jeans and the crisp rose blazer that Zoe was wearing. Turning back, I went into the employee locker room and sifted through my unnecessarily huge bag to find what I was searching for, placing it on my pile of selections and bee-lining it back to the dressing room.

"Here you go," I said holding out the pile of clothing.

"Ooh, these all look great, which do you recommend?"

"Personally, I recommend this," I held out a structured bustier printed a butterfly brocade. An item that was part of my spring collection and that was rejected by Sandra Parkinson and many other buyers. The clean black-and-gold print meshed well with the color scheme of Zoe's other garments and the bustier would accentuate Zoe's flat chest, whose was similar to mine. The measurements of the top matched perfectly to Zoe's torso and I knew it would fit her like a glove. Zoe's eyes glittered with approval and she grabbed at the bustier with a hunger that most shopaholics experienced upon seeing the perfect garment.

"Isn't that something you made?" Libby asked. "I remember because I wanted something like that and you promised that you would make me one."

"I don't remember promising that but with my next paycheck, I'll buy enough fabric to make you a year's worth."

"I look forward to it."

A minute later, a squeal of happiness issued forth from the dressing room and I felt a smirk grow on my lips. It was nice to know someone appreciated my efforts.

"So, how are you going to explain to her that there's no price tag attached? Or are you going to charge her?"

"Well…" I had to admit that the thought hadn't even made a move to cross my mind.

Zoe bounced out the stall in a bunny hop of joy. Everything I had used to justify my recommendation showed and I knew she'd want it no matter the price. It was a look in her eyes, a look of determination.

Out of obligation requisite of a salesperson, I asked, "How do you like it?"

"I love it, it's perfect! I feel beautiful in this. The jeans and top make me feel like I'm two sizes thinner!" Zoe smiled with sincerity.

Libby piped up, "Good, clothes should make you happier and if that's what makes you happier then go for it!"

"I've noticed that the top doesn't have a price tag on it though. Do you think I can still buy it?"

"Umm," I looked at Libby in desperation. Libby made a gesture but I couldn't understand a bit of it, not a shock since Libby tends to lose in charades. Making up my mind, I said, "Actually, I made that top, but I was going to give it away to a friend. I'm sure my friend won't mind if I give it to you though."

"Oh, are you sure? I'm willing to pay up to hundred bucks for it."

Libby and I exclaimed, "Hu-hun-hundred?!"

"For a dinky -"

Smoothly, I muffled Libby's ever-running mouth and smiled at Zoe, who seemed to be genuine in her offer. To say I'm flattered would have been akin to saying that the Sun is big, an understatement.

"It's fine. The top is on the house. I'm just happy you like it."

"Really? Thank you!" Zoe wrapped me in a strong embrace. Then, Grace appeared from the dressing room behind us, causing Libby and I to scream out in surprise.

Almost hysterical, Libby exclaimed, "I didn't even see you there! You're like a freaking ninja."

Shrugging off Libby's comment, Grace explained, "I came in when you guys were talking."

Still perplexed, I said, "Oh?"

"It was a test," Grace raised her hand to cut me off, "I do this with every stylist, after all it is a pretty well-paying job if you include the ten-percent commission. I bring in a friend or regular and ask them to pose as customers in certain situations with certain guidelines for the job. I do this every now and then too, just to check up."

"Are you serious?" I asked, feeling a bit skeptical and offended. Looking at Zoe, I knew that Grace was being serious.

"I know you're a bit confused, which is understandable, but the good news is that you passed. With flying colors, if I may add."

Sympathetically, Zoe said, "I really do like everything that you picked out for me and I do want to buy it all, honestly. So, will you ring me up?"

I almost want to tell Zoe where she could shove her sympathy but I would rather have her money. "Sure, I don't see why not."

"Thanks, Corrine, next time I come I'll make sure to come just as a customer." Zoe headed out the door and a weary feeling washed over me.

This day was just too long; all I wanted to do was curl up with a book, a mug of warm green tea, and Minnie. Just to get lost in a fantasy with a tasty drink and a loving companion.

Then, Grace pulled me aside and I braced myself for more exasperation.

"Listen, Corrine, I'm sorry about 'testing' you but I do this for everyone, not just the newbies, and I certainly don't do it out of any malicious intent."

Seeing Grace's earnestness, I accepted her apology and said, "Grace, honestly, I just want to get through this day. It's just been a long day and this little 'test' didn't help me."

"I know but after this, I'm sure that you'd be perfect for styling the magazine shoot."

"What?!"

"You have a creativity that no one else at hand does, you understand fashion and style on a deeper level than anyone else here including me. This isn't just your job, it's your passion. It's a gift and I've only seen that with one other person, but she isn't here to do this. Anyone can do this shoot but I believe it takes someone special to bring it to another level and that someone is you."

I knew that Grace truly believed this and I also knew that disagreeing might as well land me back into unemployment, so against my better judgment, I said, "Fine, I'll do it."

* * *

><p><strong>So this is the last chapter of the really long document, and I know this is really early but I had an idea for another Style Savvy story with a new protagonist for Style Savvy Trendsetters (which I love) and to make a sequel for Satin Roses. Satin Roses isn't nearly done yet but I just want some feedback so if you could say whether or not you think that those ideas are good in your reviews that would help a lot. Thanks for sticking by this story, I really appreciate it. :)<strong>


	10. Don't Call Me Maybe

"So, what do I do?" I asked Grace, who called over a perfectly made up Lanie. Long, thin legs gracefully swept across the hardwood floor as Lanie approached us, carefully curled locks bouncing with each step that she took.

"All you have to do is come up with three outfits for both Dominic and Lanie. The theme is a classy, businessy feel." Grace smiled as she pointed to a rack of clothing with filled with neutral shades. "These are the latest samples from the Sonata and Castellan; feel free to play around with textures and style. Just keep the look streamlined and professional, okay? I'm going to go check on the shop, but have fun!"

"Wait!" Reaching out for her, I watched Grace flounce away, dumping her responsibilities away on some unsuspecting newbie.

Fine, I guess I am doing this. Swallowing back a groan, I made my way to the rack of clothing. The first thing to jump out at me was a fitted velvet jacket in a rich shade of burgundy wine…and it was the only thing to stand out since it was the only piece of clothing that had any color. Blacks, grays, dark browns, and whites filled the rack and I was swimming in neutral. Twenty minutes later, I found a chocolate brown tulle mini-dress that went along gorgeously with a white tuxedo jacket and a pair of pinstriped tapered pants and crisp white button-down to wear with the velvet jacket. A strand of errant hair wiggled irritatingly in front of my eyes and I blew at it dejectedly. I knew I could just slap any two pieces of clothing in sets of three and call it a day, and I wanted to, yet something within me wanted to do better than just "okay" and it forced me to put some effort. It was a tugging in my stomach that refused to let up and I knew it wouldn't stop until I was satisfied with my work. Huffing, I buckled down and reevaluated the collections. Black…brown…gray…black…ooh, maroon! Taking out a set of maroon pants and suit jacket, I knew that I could do this and that a part of me wanted to, so swallowing back my impatience, I dived into the myriad of inspiration.

"Wow, this is great," Lanie gushed and I gave her a tight smile as I adjusted the navy scarf tied snugly around her long neck. "So, is Dominic ready yet or are you going to dress him after me?"

My ears perked up and I let out a small high-pitched whine. "I have to dress him?"

"I meant that you have to style his outfits like you're doing now with me," Lanie shrugged and purred, "But honestly, I wouldn't mind dressing, or undressing, someone so hot. Do you know if he's dating anyone?"

"No," I said as a sense of relief washed over me as I tightened the straps on Lanie's heels.

"Hmm, I haven't heard much from the _Whisperer _or the _Mirror_. I heard he's still devastated by Sasha, but I know Felicity's got her eye on him. And what Felicity wants…she gets."

It was weird but I felt a bit annoyed at the sound of that, knowing that I had no reason to be jealous of Felicity. With a small tug of the hem, I nodded my head in satisfaction, "Okay, I'm done, so you can go to Libby and I'll get started on Dominic."

"Alright, thanks, girl."

Picking up the neatly folded pile of clothing in one hand and a pair of patent oxfords in the other, I made my way to Dominic's little sectioned-off corner. The acerbic words I had said to Libby seared themselves onto my mind, _it doesn't help that your boss gave you a job because he has a crush on you_. God, why am I so self-centered and juvenile?! He obviously gave that job to me because he was being nice, not because he had some fifth-grade crush on me. Biting my lip, I resolved to apologize to the man, who has been nothing but nice to me, who's only been rude and stupid in every sense possible.

"Um…" Clearing my throat, I said, "Mr. Strata, I have the clothing for the shoot ready…"

Then, Dominic's voice said from behind me, eliciting a squeak of surprise, "Thank you, Corrine, if you'll kindly place them inside, I'll be out right away."

Dominic just stood there, watching as I nervously placed his clothing on the makeshift dresser in his room. Then, when I looked at him, his eyes darted towards the floor and I knew at that instant, he was disappointed. Hurriedly, Dominic brushed past me, sliding the curtain covering the entrance of his makeshift room.

A few minutes later, I knew that it was now or never to apologize for my supreme jerkiness so I forced my hand to shake the curtain slightly, just to warn him that someone was entering.

"Come in."

As I slid open the curtain, Dominic gaped surprisingly at me as if he never expected me to have the gall to face him. Quickly, I closed the curtain to give us privacy.

Holding up a hand, I said, "Please, just hear me out before you speak. What I said about you to my friend was uncalled for and unappreciative. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings in any way because of what I said. It was stupid and bratty of me to lash out on the only good thing in my life and after today's events, I just wanted to vent about something. Please, know that I don't think you give people jobs just so that you can take advantage of them. I mean not that that's the impression you gave me, when we met…Ugh, I just wanted to apologize for what I said and that I'll still go on that date with you if you still want to although I can't fathom why you would…and you definitely don't have to go to that stupid thing with me on Friday, since that's pretty much done with…"

"Stop, Corrine, just stop." Dominic looked at me, serious and handsome in his suit. "I accept your apology, you've just been stressed and I wouldn't blame you, considering what you had to go through today. You have no reason to apologize for what you said, personally, I would've assumed the same if someone did that to me. I was avoiding you because I was embarrassed that I acted so unprofessionally and daftly. Corrine, please understand that I would never put anyone in that position intentionally. I really do like you and I want you to give me a chance, but please, never feel obligated to like me just because I am your boss."

His expression was genuine and his voice shook as he talked, Dominic's eyes gazed apologetically into mine. My steady hand took his shaking hand and I said, "Dominic, I like you too, but not because I feel an obligation. I'm willing to give you that chance because I want to see if this could be something good. You're a good guy, Dominic Strata, and you deserve to be recognized for that."

"Thank you, Corrine."

"Don't thank me just yet." My lips spread out in a warm grin and I reluctantly let go of his hand. "Come on, it's show time, Mr. Strata."

"Ugh," Dominic groaned, "Please refrain from calling me that, 'Mr. Strata' is my father."

Before I could respond, Felicity's voice trilled loudly, "Where the hell is Strata?! We're hours behind on this stupid article and the man of the freaking hour just takes his time as the rest of us run around like chickens with our heads cut off!"

I said, "You better—"

Fidgeting with his checked tie, Dominic nodded grimly, "I'm on it."

* * *

><p>An hour later, the shoot was wrapped up and I stayed to help clean up the mess that was formerly known as Grace's office. Everyone else was having a break, gathered in the employee "lounge" for a breather, I volunteered to stay behind and get started on cleaning up, feeling out of place with the group. As I put the delicate clothing on their respective hangers, I found myself somewhat at peace. The shoot went along smoothly, Felicity and Libby were going to wrap up the article with one more subject, who was rescheduled for the next day, and then, it would be written up and sent off for the printing of the February issue of <em>Nuances<em>. Libby was buoyant with joy that her first gig went so well, Felicity was so pleased with the photos that she asked Libby to help with a small editorial for _Nuances_. At that point, Libby looked as if she would burst with happiness. I felt happy for Libby and I knew that she was right all along; things would work out in the end.

With a few shrill pips, my phone alerted me of an incoming call. It was an unknown number and, as I accepted it, I wondered who would even want to call me in the first place unless it was a serious matter. Placing the phone to my ear, I said, "Hello?"

"Hi, Corrine, it's Katie."

"Oh, Katie…"

"I know you're sorry so don't even bother apologizing. It's fine, it really is. I mean I wouldn't necessarily trust you to buy me any food in the immediate future," We both let out nervous laughs, "But, it wasn't entirely your fault that I had to go to the E.R., I was being arrogant and reckless to not carry my Epi-pen with me. Honestly, if I had brought it with me, this whole scene could have been avoided and I could have just gone on with the shoot as planned."

"About that…"

"I know, Felicity told me. I don't mind that you stepped in and did the job. I mean they had to get someone on short notice and I have faith that Grace chose the right person. It's really not a big deal, I mean it's just a little line on the corner of the page giving someone credit. I'm not even being paid to do this in the first place. I was doing this as a favor for Felicity."

"Okay, so, no hard feelings?" I asked, my poor lip bleeding from being bit so much.

Katie let out a wry laugh and said, "There never were any to begin with. Relax, girl, it's not as if I was dying. And if you really want one of my gigs, next time just ask."

"But—"

"I'm kidding, Corrine. Have a good night, and don't dwell too much on this whole situation. It's really not a big deal."

"Thanks for being so understanding."

"No problem, girl. Bye."

"Bye." I heard the click of the phone hanging up and I let out the breath that was held in me for so long. All the stuffy and heavy feelings eased up and I felt like I could truly breathe air. The corners of my lips tugged outwards until they broke out into a full on grin and my eyes were moist with tears of relief.

"How did it go?" Dominic gave me a kind smile as he put his hand on my shoulder.

"It went great, Katie was more than cool about the whole ordeal. No hard feelings." Then, without warning, I wrapped my arms around Dominic, my long arms awkwardly embracing his neck, my hands ruffling his soft hair. I just had to hug someone, it was like that time I had received the acceptance letter from Harvard and I hugged my grandmother's cat because she was the first huggable thing I saw. Also the time Luke proposed to me, I immediately embraced him as I said yes, not letting go until our legs cramped up in the cold.

Realizing that I had Dominic in what could constitute as a chokehold, I let go and apologized, "Sorry, I can't help but hug someone every time I get good news. I guess it's just a reflex."

"I was wondering. Never mind, it was one of the warmest hugs I've ever received, restricted breathing aside." Dominic said wryly.

Hitting him on the arm, I laughed, "Minus twenty points, Strata. You're off to a real bad start, Dominic, will you ever redeem yourself?"

"It's only a matter of time, Flynn. You don't know it yet but my charm's working its magic on you."

"It must be some weak magic," I said jokingly. "Maybe it's time to go back to charm school."

"Very funny, come on, let's finish cleaning up." With a playful nudge, Dominic directed me towards the rack of monotone clothing and I let out a creaking groan.

"Ooh, fun." I said as I started wrapping up shoes and placing them back into their boxes. Dominic worked with efficiency in hanging up the clothing and I knew that it was in his nature to work at such a quick pace.

"Tell me, Flynn, why are you so pressed on avoiding your ex? I mean you'll run into him eventually, right? So, why not go to a dinner with a millionaire fake-boyfriend and show him up?"

"Wow, subtle is not a familiar word for you, is it?"

"Just answer, please, I answered one of your tactless questions before so I figure this will even it out."

Taking a deep breath, I said, trying to sound as detached as possible, "I saw him today, when I was picking up the food. He was in a stupid, hipster café. A place he would never even entertain going to during our relationship. Seeing him there, reminded me that he moved on, that he was willing to change, it just depended on the reason…and I wasn't a good enough reason. I don't think I ever was or would be, not for him. Anyway, I pissed him off." Then, my voice trembled as I remembered the rage in his eyes, the pure hate he felt for me, blurting out, "I've never seen him so angry, not even in our most serious fights, not even when he left me. I always knew he resented me for the last part of our relationship, I just never thought that he'd grow to hate me."

"I understand." Sitting down beside me, Dominic crossed his limber legs and I looked up at him in curiosity. I remember from Googling him that he was divorced but supposedly, the split was amicable. "I don't know if you're aware of it or not but I was divorced. My ex thought she deserved better and she left me. I think she still blames me for certain things I never did and that she hates me for never taking responsibility. She refuses to ever talk to me in peaceful terms."

"It's like we wronged them." I said, facing Dominic with a new perspective. The smooth, charming Dominic had faults. He really was human. Maybe more human than I'd ever expect.

"Maybe we did," Dominic acquiesced. He looked at me with an appreciation that I hadn't received in so long I forgot how good it felt.

Gently, I leaned against him and said decisively, "Well, it's time to forget them, what's past is past. I'm glad we unloaded all this baggage. It gives us a chance to have some fun with this relationship. Even if it doesn't work out, I'm sure we can still be good friends."

"I suppose so." Rising up, Dominic proffered a hand and smiled, "Come on, Flynn, let me take you home."

"Eager, aren't you?" I teased. "It's so tempting but I can't, I'm going to dinner with my friends. It's a mandatory girls' night, as much as it sounds like high school."

Pushing back his bangs, Dominic huffed lightheartedly, "Fine, I guess we'll have to reschedule. Shame, I had a table reserved at McDonalds. Do you know how difficult it is to get a reservation there?"

With a roll of my eyes, I said, "Oh, what a shame it is."

Then, Libby interrupted the moment by clearing her throat. "Corrine, as cute as this rom-com is, if we don't leave now, we'll be late and we both know how anal Didi is about lateness."

"Alright, Libby, just let me get my things." Swinging my bag over my shoulder, I glared at Libby, who was making strange gestures behind Dominic's back. Dominic smiled unwittingly and I flashed him a reassuring grin, saying, "So, call me?"

"Perhaps, Flynn."

"I think you mean… 'Maybe.' Ba-dum tssh." Libby piped up, "Get it? Like 'Call Me Maybe?'" We stared at her blankly and she threw her hands up in the air, exasperated, "I'm just a genius ahead of time."

"I guess I got to get going. The F-train gets pretty crowded this time around."

Giving my arm a tight squeeze, Dominic asked me, "Call me maybe?"

I snorted, "Sure, whatever."

* * *

><p>"He said, 'Call me maybe?' What is he, fourteen and hormonal?" Olivia spewed at me as she took another swig of Jack Daniels. "Did he also mention One Direction or Justin Beiber?"<p>

"Ew, manners much?" Didi wrinkled her nose at Olivia's manners, something we all had learned to accept all except for Didi whose principles refused to accept any form of crudeness whatsoever.

"Bite me." Bits of hamburger flew from Olivia's pretty lips towards Didi's horrified face.

"Don't tempt me." Didi murmured murderously. Then, Didi faced me, warmth in her soft eyes. "Don't listen to her, she's just bitter."

Olivia let out a growling noise and attacked a hamburger the size of her face. Putting her arm around Olivia's shoulder, Libby leaned against her comfortingly. It felt weird having a boy-related pity party since Luke and I were done months ago, Didi and Louis were going stronger than ever, Libby despised boys ("Ain't nobody got time for that!"), and Olivia dropped boys like it was hot. This "Tim" I assume had to be different from the other boys, seeing how Olivia's making such a fuss. Olivia's type was bad boys with golden hearts, James Dean with puppies. So far, Olivia's been able to attract "bad" boys, minus the golden hearts. I could only imagine "Tim," cute, thick hair slicked back, an ardent love for "hogs," and an attitude appropriate for a spoiled eighth grader. A rebel without a cause, hmm, more like a rebel without a job.

"Wait 'till you hear this, Corrine. You'll love it for sure, considering your 'Glenn' experience."

At the sound of the name, I cringed. It was two months after my breakup and the girls tried cheering me up in any way they could, considering how broken I was during the ordeal. Therefore, with good intentions, the three signed me up on an online dating service as their first attempt to "fix" me. It seemed like the least of their bad ideas, and within a day, someone responded. The response was from a guy named "Glenn Smith" and he seemed harmless, even interesting, his interests were in poetry and filmmaking and he had a job in Wall Street as a stockbroker. Hell, he had a cute face. What his profile forgot to note was that he was a gigantic asshole.

So, there I was, emotionally-volatile and confused, my best friends coming over to my apartment and prettying me up and then dropping me off at a swanky restaurant that I would never have any business going to, heartbroken or otherwise. Olivia paid the maitre d' extra to keep me from leaving the restaurant, so I sat there like a lump and waited for fifty minutes for a fast-talking guy to glide in and tell me that I look decent. Our banter was awkward, I nervously explained that I hadn't been on a date since my breakup and he looked at me, saying, "Tough luck, sweetheart." He had a steak, which he couldn't eat physically without closing his mouth, made sexist jokes that he justified with the rational that if women didn't do the things he joked about then there would be no reason to make any jokes, and, most frustratingly of all, he talked into his Bluetooth more than he would even look at me, the one time he did, he said, "A seven, maybe an eight if she would lighten up." After dessert, Glenn had the gall to tell me off for being such a wet blanket. As the final twist of the knife, Glenn invited me to go some hipster club with him in Tribeca and when I declined, feeling worn, he left me at the restaurant all by myself. Ever since that incident, the girls try not to make a big deal out of it, mentioning it jokingly and I allow them to, knowing that they had the best intentions.

Facing Olivia, I asked, "On a scale of Glenn to Brad Pitt, how was he?"

"Honestly," Olivia paused somberly, "I'd give him 'Brad Pitt' status if he didn't have such a fatal flaw."

"Really? So, spill, what's Tom's 'big' flaw?"

In traditional Olivia fashion, Olivia slumped dramatically, emulating the devastated waif in her favorite soap operas, "He's…oooh, I can't even comprehend how depressing it is!"

"Ugh, he's living with his mom." Didi burst out impatiently, "He's thirty-five and he's living in the attic of his mom's townhouse in Queens, but he's also a cardiologist in St. Abraham's, graduated from Columbia University. The only reason he lives with his mom is so that he can pay off his school loans."

"Seriously?" I asked skeptically, wholly surprised that Olivia finally found someone with a stable job. Usually, Olivia's boy toys mooched off her as if she was their sugar momma.

"Seriously." Didi raised her groomed brows in annoyance. Then, sarcastically, Didi quipped, "That's not even the worst of it…Tim is nice."

"Ooh, lord forbid." I joked, raising up my hands mockingly in fear.

"Oh ha ha." Olivia glared at the two of us, giggling immaturely. Sipping her liquor, Olivia said, "That's not the problem. You guys don't understand, he's perfect. He's nice, he's smart, he's cultured, he's caring, he's handsome, so handsome, and I don't' feel a single bit of attraction to him. When I saw his online profile, I thought that I had nothing to lose, hell, it was an opportunity to gain something. So, we meet on the first date and he charms the pants off of me, we even have a bit of fun. The polar opposite of your 'Glenn' experience. I thought that this was what all those stupid E-Harmony commercials were talking about and that I found the one. A lot for just a first date, but after a string of shitty boyfriends, I really had hope. Then, he told me everything about how he was living with his mom and I was fine with it, it just proved how smart he is. On our fourth date, I meet his mom, who's a total sweetheart, and I really felt like there was substance to our relationship. Then, finally, Tim and I did 'it.' The whole thing was good, it felt okay."

Curious, I interrupted, "So, what's wrong? He sounds great."

"I was just getting to that," Olivia snipped, "It's just…There's no spark."

"Excuse me?"

"You know that 'BAM,'" Olivia clapped her hands together for emphasis, "…feeling? Like when that spark hits your lips from hardcore smooching or when you get tingles along your back when a guy's hand caresses it. You know all that poetic shit in those romantic comedies and those shitty books that teenyboppers squeal over, 'girly' stuff."

Shaking my head, I looked Olivia dead in the her wide eyes, "Are you seriously doubting your relationship with a guy because you don't feel 'BAM' about him?"

"So, aren't I allowed to romanticize romance?"

Snorting, I said, "Well, have fun looking for that. Just so you know, Luke and I had that spark… he still cheated on me with that girl. Robert and Didi, sorry Didi, had that spark, you remember what happened to them. They got bored and left each other. Maybe…just maybe, that 'spark' shouldn't be something to count on for a stable relationship."

"Oh yeah, then, what about this Dominic, are you saying you hope that you won't find a spark with this guy?"

"Maybe I am." I stared into the floating bits of muddled strawberries in my virgin daiquiri, pretending that I hadn't just said that. However, I did say that, which must have meant that I at least thought of it. It was funny how in love I was a year ago. Tired, I admitted, "I don't know, okay? I really like him, a lot, but I don't want some lovey-dovey rose-tinted glasses blurring my vision of reality. Not like last time. It hurt so much that I wanted to die, losing Luke. You know that, Olivia."

"I know, Corri, and I don't want you to get hurt again. So, if this guy hurts you, in anyway, you come to us and we'll fix it."

"Thanks, Don Corleone."

Putting on a tight smile, I allowed Olivia to ruffle my already untamable hair. Libby planted a kiss on my head, her skinny arms embracing my neck warmly, as Didi patted me on the back. I had already told them of my encounter with Luke earlier and besides the usual amount of pity, the girls were outraged (Libby: "He's such an ass!" Didi: "If he's such a grown up, why does he act like a little boy?" Olivia: "I'll show him moving on, let's burn down his house!"), and that's how the whole "boys are stupid" tirade went off.

Quickly, I clarified, "I just want to say that Dominic is not a bad guy, I think he's great. I think he's kind, he's handsome, he's cultured, and he's one of the most understanding people I've ever met. He's just overall a great guy and I like him."

"Alright, Katherine Heigl," Olivia mocked, receiving a punch to the arm as retaliation from Didi, "Just saying, if there ever comes the case, you know who to call."

Libby piped up curiously, "The Ghostbusters?"

At that point, we collapsed into giggles and finished off the rest of our meal faster than a group of vultures. It was just a habit. We cried over boys and ate our feelings, not the healthiest way of dealing with our feelings but it did the trick.

Finally, we paid the bill after a round of rock-paper-scissors, which Libby predictably lost, and decided to head out to this weird club that Olivia had heard about from her coworker, Armando, who is a flamboyantly gay and extremely proud of it, in Manhattan. It was supposedly owned by a Kennedy and had real Bengal tigers in cages, which really excited Olivia. Knowing that I'd have to help open shop tomorrow, I resolved not to drink a lick of liquor and announced that I'd be the designated driver. Libby joined me in the alcohol-free brigade since she had to wake up at ten to help Felicity with the last part of article. Didi had the same situation as me, forced to open shop. Olivia had the same luck. So, we were all basically in the same barrel, no drinking, just going to watch the weirdness of New York in play.

Since Libby forgot her Metro card, we decided to take a long, "scenic" walk down Manhattan to breathe in the fresh air and admire the scenery. As we strolled down downtown Manhattan, I remembered my first time that I came here. It was frosty with snow and my grandma, Ann, had taken me to see the lighting of the Rockefeller Christmas tree. Dan was attending MIT, finishing his first semester with excellence. I was finishing the first two semesters of junior year with a twenty-one-hundred in the SATs. Myra was a freshman in high school, who had straight A's for the first two semesters, like me, but a record since she repeatedly got into fights with other girls. As a reward, Dan and I were allowed to go along with Ann to a party in New York held by her old friends, as a punishment, Myra was sent to a winter retreat for girls with behavioral tribulations. Immediately, I jumped with joy, secretly wanting to know more about the fashion world, and Dan tagged along so that he wouldn't have to deal with our parents. It took us four hours to get to New York from Boston, and an extra fifty minutes to find her friend, Rococo's, place. After settling down, Ann quickly grew restless as always despite her seventy years and asked the two of us, since Rococo breezed out of our way as soon as she let us in, how we'd want to spend our night. Dan looked at me pleadingly, which inspired me to say, "I don't know." It was ten 'o clock at night and Ann suddenly remembered that there was a Christmas tree lighting in Rockefeller center, one of New York's hallmark. After donning our winter coats, Ann dragged us out to the tree, which seemed to have so much attention that traffic congested the streets and policemen had to direct tourists and locals alike to the renowned fir. Freezing cold, Dan and I cradled our cups of hot cider as Ann haggled with a vendor for two-dollar knishes. Finally, we trekked our way through the snow, our bodies weary with wear, to see the most spectacular sight we ever saw. A golden wreath swathed around vibrant green, ornaments sparkling in glaring lights around it. The most spectacular of all, a beautiful star, which extended in shining rays, glowing from the tiptop; the sight of the tree, glittering in its glory, made the weariness, the annoyances, and the coldness melt away from my mind and I found myself at peace, similar to how I felt before in the shop. Like all the anxiety in the world just melted off of my shoulders and everything at that moment was okay, no worries about my SAT score being too low, no worries about mean coworkers who depend on you to lie for them, just no worries in the least. It was the reason that I came to New York, to find that anxiety-free feeling again, to feel that peace.

"Corri, Earth to Corrine Flynn. Hello, are you there?"

Waving her manicured hands in my face, Libby roused me back to reality and I smiled sarcastically. With the same amount of sarcasm that Libby used, I responded, "Corrine Flynn to Earth, I am present. Flynn to Earth, do you know a weirdo is operating your station?"

"Oh, hardy har har, Corri. I was just checking up on you. No need to be so sarcastic."

"Libby, this is me we're talking about, right? Sarcasm is my middle name."

Olivia interrupted our banter, "I thought your middle name was 'Adelaide?'"

We all stared at Olivia, whose confusion was genuine, and I remarked deadpan, "Yes, that's true."

Then, Libby said suddenly, breaking our silence, "Hey, isn't that Dominic?"

"What?"

"There, over in that weird bar," Libby pointed out towards a grimy-looking bar in which a tall brunet man and a blonde woman just as tall accompanying him.

Turning his head to the side, Dominic smiled at the woman with the warmth that he had showed me. A small tinge of annoyance tugged at me and I swallowed it back.

Calmly, I said, "Yep, I think that's him."

"Hey, who's the chick he's with?"

"I don't know, probably a friend." Pulling out my phone, I said, "Just to be sure, I'll give him a friendly call. You know, just for the heck of it."

As my phone dialed his number, I stared at the two that feeling of annoyance niggled at me even more. Soon, my phone had the steady hum of the dial tone, focusing our attention on Dominic and the woman. Dominic looked down in surprise and took out his phone. He looked down at his phone and then pressed something. Suddenly, the dial tone of phone cut off, leaving a message.

"Hey, this is Dominic, I'm not available at the moment but feel free to leave a message after the beep."

_Beep._

* * *

><p><strong>Hey, guys, please don't kill me but it's been awhile. Consider this my Christmas present to you guys, I'm so grateful to everyone that's still dedicated to this story and if it wasn't for your support, I probably wouldn't be as determined as I am to finish this story. I'm hoping to post another chapter up soon, hopefully by the end of the week. Since I'm off from school for a couple of weeks, I'm hoping to get a few more chapters out before school starts up again. I'm also thinking about starting a new series with the sequel game, Style Savvy: Trendsetters, so if you have any thoughts just give me a heads up. ^^ As always, thanks for reading and review if you'd like. Happy holidays!<br>**


	11. Dungeons and Bad Decisions

"Morning."

Myra smiled eerily towards me, her pretty face looking strangely familiar. Her fingernails looked like small, shiny globs of burgundy that were perfectly rounded at the tips. It was her business nails, or basically the nails she wears when she's serious, which oddly enough is not as frequent as you would expect.

Giving her a puzzled look, I took a seat and poured myself a bowl of cereal. In a cold silence, Myra and I stared at each other. It was weird but not unfamiliar; lately, Myra and I haven't gotten along, just yesterday Myra and I passive aggressively fought over a toothbrush. It's just that she's gotten particularly nagging and that there's this grating, uncomfortable sensation whenever she speaks. In addition, the fact that she seems to believe that my life is solely based on being her maid-of-honor, an "honor" that was bestowed on me after the previous one had a mental breakdown. So, I haven't set up an engagement party even though the wedding is in six months, sue me. Myra didn't want a bachelorette party or for John to have a bachelor one so she decided that the maid-of-honor and best man should plan a tasteful engagement party instead. Now that I think about it, I think the last maid-of-honor had her breakdown when planning for Myra's engagement party and the best man was a skeevy flake.

Pouring non-fat soymilk (bleh) into the bowl of shriveled Special K, I questioned my sister's taste in food and began to nibble at the wet flakes. Myra shifted around, barely touching her egg whites. There were subtle twitches in her face that told me I was disgusting her with my eating habits. Myra's berry lips were typically pursed, she wanted to say something but didn't wanted to be seen as prudish, which she is. Finally, I opened my mouth, revealing a beige mush of chewed up oats.

Making a sound of disgust in the back of her throat, Myra said, "Seriously, you're sick."

Giggling, I retorted, "Actually, I'm hungry."

"Whatever, just be a decent human being and eat with your mouth closed, please."

"Fine," I closed my mouth and swallowed before continuing to speak, "Myra, you need to eat, you look so thin."

Myra shifted around in her seat uncomfortably. "What are you talking about? I look the same. I've just been running a lot more, you know for the wedding…God, is it that obvious?"

Popping a hard-boiled quail egg into my mouth, I said, "It's not that noticeable but you really don't need to be thinner than you are now, you'll look like a skeleton."

Perking up, Myra looked shocked, if vaguely pleased at the observation. "Really?"

I nodded, digging into my bowl of cereal. Myra ruffled with pleasure, now the epitome of New York thinness.

"So, you're going to work…like that?" There was a subtle pinch of the nose, a sure sign of disapproval.

Peering down, I observed my outfit; a black cardigan over a navy turtleneck shell tucked into black high-waisted pants, a serviceable outfit or so I thought. For once, I looked less like a gawky ostrich and more like a normal person, a tough feat for someone who's six inches taller than the average woman. Subtly, Myra's eyes trailed down from my outfit towards my shoes, a pair of patent flats with bows to match.

"What?" I heard myself sputter, "I look perfectly fine! Don't I?"

Myra shrugged noncommittally, "No. No. You look…fine."

The moment my ears heard "fine" panic set in, I couldn't look fine, not in front of those girls; they'd rip me to shreds. If you don't look like you've stepped out of _Nuances_, then you were an outcast in Strata, abandoned to face the icy glares of your coworkers and the loneliness of the stockroom. Even Puritans give better treatment to their excommunicated.

Then, having seen the horrific expression on my face, Myra retracted her statement, still unaccustomed to my little episodes of panic despite enduring them for her entire life.

"Listen, I probably have no idea what I'm talking about. Look at what I'm wearing!" Myra pointed to her walnut peplum top and her oxblood pencil skirt, a perfectly professional and tasteful outfit and something I would never have imagined wearing myself.

Pouting, I said, "Oh sure, now you say that. God, those girls are going to tear me to shreds."

"Please, dramatic much? You've always been so insecure about your height ever since elementary!"

"Well, I can't help that I was taller than all the other boys in class _and _that I became "Giraffe" after the graduation picture."

"So what? That was years ago, girls would kill to have your mile-long legs. Stop freaking out." The look of admonition in her eyes ended my little whiny spiel and I felt the tension in my body loosen ever so slightly.

Popping another egg into my mouth, I sighed, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Then, Myra looked into my eyes with a piercing glare. "Speaking of things that haven't been mentioned, how's my engagement party coming along?"

Having chugging my grapefruit juice when being confronted, I nearly choked. I thought she had finally forgotten about it. "Uh…yeah, that's still in the works. But, I don't want to spoil it…" I faltered for a moment, searching for an excuse, "Because it's a surprise!"

Myra let out a squeal of joy, something quite unnatural and disturbing, "Oh my God, you're kidding!"

"Not at all!" I forced a smile. "But I can't tell you anymore, just that it'll happen when you least expect it!"

"Of course, that's the whole point." Then, Myra smiled toothily, a rare sight since she hated her teeth even after the braces were taken off. She never smiled like that to anyone besides Dan and Dad and Mom and me and not since Dan's death. I don't think John, her fiancé, has ever seen her smile like that.

To be honest, I don't think I've smiled like that since Dan's death either.

* * *

><p>After changing into a crisp, clean button up shirt and a plain black pencil skirt and wearing my geriatric slip-ons, I rushed over to Strata since it was my turn to open up shop. I had to open up shop every day since I started working here.<p>

Unlocking the door, I questioned myself the point of opening up at eight-thirty since Fifth Avenue was virtually a ghost town until eleven, the appropriate time for brunch. The door clicked and I entered through the pristine glass door, my orthopedic shoes squeaking on the marble tile. Strata looked like Myra's penthouse, stark white, clean details, and completely without personality. It felt like a hospital in the Upper East Side, utterly clinical and indulgent. There was even a granite fountain in the center of the floor, spouting crystal-clear water that trickled down three tiers of chiseled bowls with water lilies carved on. It was elegant for sure, but it felt so empty and overwhelming without anyone else inside.

Entering the employee lounge, I grabbed Renee's id and scanned it on this black box built into the wall, scanning mine right after hers. It was basically a time log, keeping workers accountable for the time they spend working. Grace told me it was Dominic's policy and a strict one at that. You had to scan once when you entered the shop, another time when you were leaving for lunch, another time when you came back, and a final time when you left work. If anyone was caught violating the policy, Strata had grounds to fire him or her. Turns out Strata's pretty strict when it came to business.

It was Renee's turn to open up shop but like the others, she relegated the task to me and I, not wanting to cause any more tension between us, accepted it. Pretty much everyone, except for Grace, hates me since they think I ratted them out about that coffee run and I'm trying to do everything in my power to get into their good graces. It's sad that I'm basically in high school again but if it pays well I'll bite the bullet with a smile.

Placing Renee's id back into her cubby, I stuffed away my oversized hobo bag into mine and pinned my metal nametag on my cardigan. Quickly, I changed out of my granny shoes, my _comfortable_ granny shoes, and put on a pair of black court heels that I kept for work. Running a lint roller across my skirt, I tried to forget how uncomfortable it felt to stuff my wide feet into such pointy, such high, shoes, at least they were pretty. Tottering over to the bathroom, I fixed my lipstick and pinned my hair into a French twist. Looking into the mirror, I was confronted with the eerie sight of my mother gazing back at me, severe pinned burnt orange hair, pale complexion, hollow cheekbones, berry lips pursed in a frown, wearing conservative monotone clothing. Shakily, I unpinned my hair and wiped off the berry lipstick, repressing the image.

Settling myself into the customer service desk, the only place with a chair, I sighed at the sight of the clock telling me that it was only eight-forty. And there I sat for what felt like an hour but was only five minutes. Being the only one in the shop was maddening because there was nothing to do but put away stock in the stockroom and the fact that you would be alone only worsened the experience.

Wanting to waste time, I started planning for Myra's surprise party by myself, knowing full well that Nate, the best man with grabby hands, wouldn't lift a finger. It would be in the penthouse of course, since that's the only place I could get in such short notice that Myra would approve. Also, I would get the Japanese caterer that John liked so much but Myra rejected pitilessly because the poor guy deserves to get something out of this drag. I'd invite Pretentious Elise and her equally pretentious friends for Myra, but not Camilla since she snubbed Myra by not inviting her to her birthday party, and Water Polo Marco and his particularly annoying buddies for John, basically the regulars. Then, I realized that I would have to invite family, which meant that Aunt Katherine and Uncle Matthew would be coming along with Kevin the Prick and Melanie the Stick, nonentities with as much personality as a vegetable, and Jenny and Penny, the bitch twins, with Uncle Roger and wife number five; and I can't forget John's irritatingly optimistic family. In addition to this "fun" bunch, I'd have to invite Mom and Dad, which should amp up the excitement I feel for this drag already, which adds up to eighty people, not one of which I like. Cornelia wouldn't come out of respect since Myra, and well my entire family aside from me, hates her. Speaking of, I haven't called her in a while; I'd have to do that soon.

After listing everything I would have to do for the party, I fought the urge to call up Pretentious Elise and beg her to take the reins, something she'd like and gloat about for days on end. Elise always wanted to be maid-of-honor since she and Myra were best friends since college and was appalled when Myra chose Pepper instead and even more horrified when Myra chose me as the replacement. Now, Elise made petty jabs at me and refused to be cooperative out of jealousy, making me hate her even more. I couldn't even count the amount of times I wanted to kick her whenever she opened her mouth. Nope, I'd never give up this position as long as it pissed her off.

Then, the sound of the door ringing alerted me that someone had finally entered the shop. Putting away my planner, I looked up and caught the sight of swishy black hair as a trendily dressed figure walked past.

"Good morning, Madison."

Madison grunted and walked into the employee lounge.

Suddenly, the door rang again as the sound of heels clicking became increasingly louder. A pretty woman with shiny burgundy hair that dripped down her back like spilt wine walked in. Shocked at seeing a customer come in so early, I straightened out my clothing in a flustered manner. Walking up to the desk, the woman was wringing her wrists worriedly.

"Hi, welcome to Strata. Do you have a stylist appointment?"

"No, I don't. Do I need one?"

"Well it depends. Is there anything you need help with in particular?"

"Erm, yes there is." The woman let out a huff of weariness. "I'm having this big party tonight for work. I work for Lucille Wright, the editor-in-chief of _Nuances_, and we're going to the Kensington Fashion Awards event. This is an opportunity that I don't intend to miss out on. I had everything set up too; I had the dress, the shoes, and the witty things to say and who to say them to. It was perfect. Then, the cleaners screwed up and bleached my Prada dress, like the morons they are, instead of steaming it. Ugh, I should steam them. And now I'm here, the only store opened at this ungodly hour because I'm too busy any other time."

"Oh…Well, we have a wide selection of evening dresses from Alvarado, Miu Miu, Oscar De La Renta, Époque, Valentino, Dolce and Gabana, Diane Von Furstenberg, and Sonata. Would you like me to show you?"

"That'd be lovely. By the way, I'm Chantal." Chantal offered a hand.

"Nice to meet you, Chantal, I'm Corrine." Giving her a warm smile, I shook her hand.

As we walked past the shoe section and the accessories, I asked, "What's your job at _Nuances_, if I may ask?"

Shaking her head nonchalantly, Chantal replied, "I don't mind at all, I'm the art director of the magazine, I basically decide the layout and the art direction of each issue. It's a decent job and pays well enough to afford Prada, that's for sure. The real perks come from 'borrowing' the latest samples right out of the _Nuances _closet and going to these huge events."

A pang of jealousy sparked and I nodded in understanding. "Sounds exciting. Now, is there a particular brand that you're looking for? Any color, fabric, or cut you're looking for?"

"Hmm, well, why don't you decide for me?"

Blinking dumbly, I said, "Huh?"

"Your nametag says that you're a stylist, so why don't you style me?"

"Erm," It was another policy that stylists worked on an appointment-based basis and walk-ins had to pay an extra twenty dollars in addition to the twenty-five flat rate.

"What?" Explaining the policy to her, I waited for Chantal to be outraged and tell me to go screw myself, like most walk-ins did, but instead she sighed and pushed back her hair. Then, she said, "Whatever, I'm tired. I haven't had any coffee and all I want to do is take a nap."

"I'll take you to the stylist lounge; it's got a couch that feels like sleeping on a cloud. Trust me, I know."

Chantal gave me a wry smile and followed me. Lying down on the couch, Chantal murmured her thanks and left me to go searching.

Luckily, it was easy to discern Chantal's taste since it was so similar to most of the customers in the shop, which was high-end and elegant. It was twenty minutes when I came back and Chantal looked like a corpse just lying on the couch. For a moment, I almost believed she was dead. Rousing her awake, I presented Chantal with her options.

The first one was a Sonata maxi dress in a burnt orange tint with a lace overlay, simple and flattering against Chantal's olive skin.

"It's okay." said Chantal, a small hint of disappointment in her voice.

The second dress was a shimmering black sequin number from Zhade, not to mention one of the most expensive. Another thing about Strata was that it urged its stylists to try to convince their customers to buy the most expensive option possible. However, that wasn't the reason I picked it; I picked it because the fluttering sleeves complimented Chantal's round shoulders and the sequins would glitter subtly and prettily underneath any sort of lighting.

Chantal seemed to be more impressed with this choice. "This is more like it. Unfortunately, Liza already decided on the red version of this dress and I doubt she'd want to twin it with me."

The third option was a lavender gown from Louis Vuitton with off-shoulder sleeves and large rosettes sewn onto the skirt. Something I had forgotten that I threw in the pile.

Chantal's puckered lips told me that this was a no go.

The final option was a buttery gold satin Alvarado dress. It had a full skirt that flared out and spaghetti straps that weren't in anyway ghetto-esque and to wrap it up, it came with a pretty bow in the back. The dress came with a chiffon shawl in the same shade, an added bonus. The dress pretty much did it all; it highlighted her round shoulders, showed off her skinny waist, and brought out a glowing effect in her complexion.

The moment Chantal exited the dressing stall; I knew that I was right. Glowing, Chantal looked like a Hollywood star or goddess, not that there was much of a difference.

Chantal herself was speechless.

"Do you like it?"

She nodded her head enthusiastically and I let out a laugh. I allowed her to get changed and then I rang up her purchase.

As I started putting her purchase in a carrier bag, an expression of revelation lit up on Chantal's face. Pointing her finger towards me, Chantal murmured, "You're Corrine Flynn."

Chuckling, I said, "Yes, I am."

"No, what I meant was that you were the stylist that did Strata's gig when Katie had that allergy attack. You're work was genius, that Alvarado velvet jumpsuit with the lace bustier and all that subtle cross coordination. Everyone at Nuances loved it. Even Lucille did a double take. The only time she's ever done that was for Tom Ford's collection a few years ago."

Every single syllable that gushed from Chantal's mauve lips stunned me and I attempted to collect myself. Quietly, I said modestly, "Thank you."

"Not at all, it should be me thanking you. All I have is one question, what is someone with the sartorial skills of a _Nuances_ editor doing as a stylist in a dinky department store?"

My mouth was agape at the boldness of her words; being a stylist at Strata was like being elite in a field, it paid well and it was highly respected among many other entry-level jobs. Sure, there were strict regulations and sometimes it felt overwhelming to work for such a big corporation, in which it felt like you were an ant or something of similar significance.

Honestly, I said, "I just needed this job."

Like a magician, Chantal whipped out a holographic card and proffered it to me. Stunned, I allowed her to hand the small little card into my hands. "Well, if you ever want to call, for any reason, feel free. We have plenty of internships and positions open to clever minds such as you."

Words escaped me, my lips parted and air gushed in and out of my body in shallow breathes. Appreciation barely covered what I felt. My cheeks grew warm and my lips spread out wide, revealing my teeth.

"It'd be my pleasure. Good luck on the party. If you ever need a couch to crash on and clothes, feel free to come back."

Letting out a wry laugh, Chantal smiled, "I'm glad, I hope to see more of your work in the future."

Chantal looked at me for a brief second with an expression of pity, like one does when they find out something disappointing about you that you are completely oblivious about. It was searing in that brief moment and hard to forget. Then, she left the store, leaving Strata feeling bigger and more eclipsing than ever.

"Hey."

A shadow loomed over me and I peered upwards only to wish that I never had. Renee looked pretty and tidy as usual; an Alvarado floral shirt fitted closely to her pin-thin waist with a pair of chocolate leather trousers, also from Alvarado, while her forest green hair was curled carefully to frame her heart-shaped face. Funnily enough, Renee dressed in clothing that costs three times more than what we, as stylists, earn.

Turning my attention back to my copy of _American Tattler_, I said, "Hi, Renee, don't worry. I carded you in first."

Clearly surprised, Renee said, "Thanks."

"No problem."

"Now, if you don't mind…"

At the sound of that, I peered up and looked at Renee evenly. "What?"

"Well, Grace is making Lillie, Porter, and me unpack and restock the stock room. And, like, we don't want to, you know?"

You have got to be kidding me.

"Let me guess, you want me to do it instead?"

"Yes! Oh my God, you're like a mind reader!" Then, Renee got a piercing look in her eyes, a rather threatening one if I may add. "You wouldn't mind, of course, would you?"

If I say yes, she'd probably spit in my face and make up some nasty rumor about me; but if I say no, then I'd be exiled to the cold, creepy stockroom to shelve away boxes of clothes. It's not like I had an excuse anyway, besides Chantal, I don't have any customers or appointments for the day. So, would I rather be branded as something I'm not at work or would I rather be branded as some brainless lackey?

I bit my lip as I gave in pathetically, "Sure, not at all."

"Great, I knew I could count on you, Cori."

Don't call me "Cori."

* * *

><p>In horror movies, there usually is a scene in which a character is stuck in a damp, cold, dark place, wandering aimlessly right into the slasher and his handy dandy chainsawmachete. Right now, at this moment, I was in that scene, just waiting to be hacked to death. Fine, I'm being melodramatic but the stockroom doesn't lessen my fear. It's large, oppressive in its atmosphere, dark, a dim light flickering on and off at random, and chilly, a slight draft breezing by from an unknown area. I hated it, it reminded me of the closet that my parents would shut me in if I ever disobeyed them or got a grade less than an "A." Luckily, I learned in time to hide a couple magazines, especially _Nuances_ that I bought with my lunch money, and read them whenever I was confined there. Too bad, I didn't have them now.

"Alrighty then." I murmured. "Let's do this."

Ten boxes, two hundred cardigans, and an hour later, I was halfway through the shipment and had reached my breaking point. My fingers ached from constantly attaching tags, my arms had gotten sore from lifting and shelving constantly, even worse, the loneliness, and silence of the room was driving me batty. There was a constant dripping sound that echoed throughout the room, which only drove me battier. Then, a hand popped out of nowhere, clamping onto my shoulder.

At that moment, I unleashed everything I felt, my body clenching tightly and my stomach was in a knot. A piercing scream rocked my body as I scrambled away from the hand. Another scream followed but it sounded disembodied as if it didn't come from my mouth.

A voice yelled at me, clearly annoyed, "Holy shit, what's your problem?"

"My problem? You're the one clamping onto me without a single warning!"

The light flickered on and there, right across from me, was a tiny pretty, dark-skinned girl, dressed trendily and expensively like all the other girls. Wide-eyed and blushing, the tiny girl looked furiously at me as she brushed off her knees.

"Nearly gave me a heart attack…Jesus…"

"Sorry, it's not every day that a random person sneak attacks you like some ninja in a dark room."

"Oh please, get over it. This room always has shitty lighting. Don't push that one on me."

"Fine, truce, ninja?"

"Sure, and it's Simone, call me 'Simi.'"

"Corrine, no nicknames."

"That's a cool name, what is it?"

"Irish, it was my grandmother's middle name." Changing the subject, I said, "Let me guess, Queen Renee gave you the honor of joining me in the dungeon?"

"Hit the nail smack on the target."

"Tell me about it," I huffed, "So, what's your story?"

"Huh?"

"How'd you piss off the queen?"

"How'd you think?" Simi helped open up the box, using a box cutter to cut a slit through a tape. "If you're weird enough with a touch of awkward, it's pretty easy to get taken advantage of."

"Good point."

Defeated, the two of us started stocking the shelves, making small talk. Surprisingly, conversation gushed from us effortlessly despite our awkward natures. In twenty minutes, I had found out that Simi was raised in London by Bengali parents, who taught at a small university, and that she was married to a black Wall Street stockbroker, like many of our coworkers, whose ethnicity caused an unnecessary rift between her and her parents. In the same twenty minutes, Simi learned of my Massachusetts origins, my leaving Harvard, and my party planning woes. It felt like we were best friends meeting after a long vacation away, which is more than what I could have asked for from my dungeon buddy.

Since Simi couldn't be taller than five feet, I had to shelve the pile of cotton dresses. Climbing on the ladder, I asked absentmindedly, "Do you live in the area?"

"Nope, the hubby and I live five blocks up."

"Oh, cool. I live there too."

"Really, where?"

"Hartford Penthouses, that place on Kingston Street, across from that pear-themed restaurant."

"Oh yeah, Kris and I considered living there but the doorman was kind of snobby."

"You mean the one with the blunt cut or the one with braces? 'Cause they're both kind of snobby."

A dry laugh burst from Simi's lips, "The one with the braces. Have you ever been to that pear place?"

"Uh-huh, it's pretty good except I couldn't look at a pear for the next couple of days without dry heaving."

"Good to know, want to go there sometime?"

"Totally," Checking my watch, I said, "It's twelve, want to go now? Screw Renee and her cronies, I need a break. Besides, these boxes arent going to grow legs and walk away for the most part."

Simi looked at me with utter shock; the expression was only fleeting though. A grin spread from cheek to cheek as she said, "Let's do this."

* * *

><p>"So, that's the Asian pear-mango-avocado salad with fresh pear cider, for you," The handsome waiter pointed to Simi with his pen and then pointed to me, "And a salmon-tuna-pear ceviche with a pear-lime juice for you."<p>

We both nodded enthusiastically, euphoric from defying Renee's whim.

The waiter pushed back his thick hair and wedged his pen besides his ear, closing up his small notepad. "Alright, feel free to call me back if you need anything else ladies. Your orders will be out in twenty minutes."

"Thanks, John." I gave him a friendly smile, remembering him from the last time I visited the restaurant.

"No problem, Corrine." He flashed me a crooked smile that I'm sure would send many pubescent girls in a hormonal tizzy.

When he walked away, Simi smacked my arm, "Check you out, that guy totally wants something and I'm not talking about anything pear-flavored."

I looked at Simi strangely.

"Or you know he could just want your number."

Laughing, I said, "I know, and I'd love to give it but…"

Prodding my arm, Simi said, "Spill."

"It's weird."

"So what? I'm a weird person, so spill."

"Alright, you asked for it." Taking a deep breath, I said, "I'm seeing someone, well, I'm just going to be honest, you know him. It's Dominic."

Simi looked blankly at me, mentally searching for anyone with the name that she knew. "You mean as in the head honcho, aka our boss? Aka Mister Piss-him-off-and-there-could-be-a-couple-coincidental-layoffs, that Dominic Strata?"

"Yes," I said, "Has that actually happened?"

Looking around suspiciously as if Dominic might be listening right at this moment, Simi whispered, "Oh, it's happened. Like when Katie went out for drinks with his friend in corporate and rejected the creep, she was booted out of Strata faster than she could say 'No.'"

"Well," I said defensively, "It wasn't proven that it was Dominic behind it, right?"

"No…but it probably was." Then, catching the look of hesitation in my eyes, Simi corrected herself, "I'm probably wrong though so ignore me and my stupid mouth."

"I think I will. As I was saying, I was seeing Dominic until two weeks ago when my friends and I spotted him in some seedy bar with a statuesque blonde. Then, I called him just to surprise him, in front of my friends, and he looked down at his phone and then declined my call. Since that night, with the exception of a text that said 'Don't call, I'll call back,' he hasn't called me, and there's no way I'm calling him again. Also, I have no idea where he is or what he's doing. To make things worse, my friends think I'm lying just to save face from not being invited to my ex-fiancé's party, one I know that they're all going to despite what they've said."

"God, douche much?" Simi gnawed on a crispy breadstick in anticipation. "Do you still like him?"

Poking out the soft part of a baguette slice, I nibbled on it contemplatively. "I think I do.

"You think or you know?"

"I know. There are times when I'll randomly think about him, like if he's working, if he's thinking about me, if he cares about me. Sometimes, I'll lay in bed, trying to sleep, and he'll pop up in my mind. But to be honest, if he's really this spotty, I don't want anything to do with him." Throwing up my hands, I exasperated, "God, he's reduced me into a teenager!"

Consolingly, Simi said, "We've all had that stage, Nathan and I had it for what felt like eternity. It shows that you feel something for him at least. It's only terrible if you get stuck in that stage."

John delivered our food and flashed me another smile, which I ignored like a miserable child.

Shoveling ceviche in my mouth miserably, I grumbled, "What do I do?"

Waving around her fork, Simi said, "Call him."

Glugging down my juice when she said it, I sprayed it back out, causing the entire restaurant to stare at me.

Quickly, I composed myself, "Are you crazy? He said specifically _not_ to call him."

"So what? He's not your mom, why should you listen to him if he snubbed you? Besides, guys like a little defiance, keeps the spark alive."

Snorting, I said sarcastically, "Yeah right. I could see it now," Deepening my voice, I did my best impression of a man, "'Hey, bro, you'll never guess what this chick did to me. She did something I specifically told her not to do, I'm in love!' 'Yeah, I love it when my girl undermines my masculinity. It's so hot!'"

Simi rolled her eyes, "Is that what you think men sound like? I'd hate to hear your impression of women."

"Terrible impression aside, you get my point. Besides, I have no reason to call him, I'm pretty sure that be more than annoying and awkward."

"Hmm," Simi chewed on a piece of pear musingly before saying, "What about your sister's party? I know her firm worked on Strata's headquarters and the shops in New York. Why not invite him to that lump of a party. It's perfect. It'd be like, 'Hey, I know you! Congrats on the whole business thing.' 'Yeah, congrats on the whole wedding thing!' 'Business pals for life!' Terrible impressions of people I don't know aside, you get my point."

In a way, it worked and I was itching to give him a call despite my better judgment. Thoughtfully, I said, "Good point, I guess it couldn't hurt. I mean they are friends after all."

"Yeah, there you go!"

Listening to the phone dialing, I said, "I'm probably going to regret this."

There was a click, Dominic's voicemail message came on and I let out a sigh of relief mingled with disappointment. I mouthed that it went to voicemail, which Simi urged me to go through with it anyway.

A beep cheeped in my ear and I took a deep breath. "Hi, Dominic. It's Corrine, I know you said not to call you and that you'd call back but I just wanted to ask if you wanted to come to this pseudo-engagement party thing for Myra, which is going to be a total drag but it'd be nice to see you and I know you and Myra are friends. So, give me a call if you get this…or not you know. Totally up to you…'Kay, bye!"

My clammy fingers clumsily tapped on the decline button, mortification at my own awkward stupidity settling in my mind. If I could travel back in time, I would have smacked Simi for suggesting I do something so stupid. Well, maybe not smack since I actually like her but the friend-equivalent of that, if it's possible.

Smugly, Simi leaned back in her chair, sipping on her cider through a straw. "Not bad, kid."

Let's hope that's the case.

* * *

><p><strong>Ohh, hey there. You guys know my deal so I won't put you through that drag. Since I'm on break for a week, I'll try to update another chapter, in Dominic's perspective for once(I missed thinking like a guy lol), and explain Mr. Strata's little absence. I'm not going to make any more promises because I don't want to disappoint you guys that are still reading, something mean of me to do. I'll try to upload as much as I can because I do want to complete this story and start another one (in the Trendsetters universe); it'll be a while before this story is done though since this is the begining. Also, to Neko-fire demon tempest (interesting name ^^): I do plan on including brands from the second game because they have a menswear selection, and to lillyanna11: I don't find your review rude at all but the story is just beginning which means that Corrine won't be acquainted with some characters until later on (like in the actual game) and I won't be including any of the other characters from the second game since I plan on having them in a completely different location for my next story. Thanks for reviewing though :D and I hope everyone enjoyed this installment. <strong>


	12. Reality Check

"C'mon, Dominic, cheer up. It can't be that bad being stuck with us for two more days."

Like an irritating fly, Mara buzzed around me as I moped around, pushing an omelet around my plate. On winter break, Mara had resolved to take me shopping and sightseeing around the area, things she liked to do in her free time. Mara had decided this was an appropriate distraction for my woes that is until Sabina invited herself along.

Those words meant nothing to me since I've been forcibly held in Tokyo by business and familial obligations for two whole weeks. Forcing a sarcastic grin, I said, "I suppose it can't, considering I've been held captive in this blasted city for two weeks. I'll try my best but thank you for those kind words of encouragement."

Taking a seat opposite of me, next to Sabina, Mara exchanged curious glances with Sabina, who looked up from her smart phone for the first time since she came out for breakfast; usually it was Mara and I who exchanged glances in face of Sabina's unreasonableness. Since they both lived in Tokyo and I stayed in New York, it felt odd seeing my sisters so grown, matured, and close for the first time in four years; my last memory of them was Mara graduating high school, playing practical jokes on Sabina. Now, the two were trading glances, huh.

Now at the ripe age of twenty-one, Mara was graduating in the spring with a dual-bachelor's degree in oil painting and traditional Japanese music from Tokyo University of the Arts. She looked like her mother, my stepmother (Sabina and I referred to her as Bonny), with a heart shaped face and wide eyes but she definitely had the "Strata" smile, a toothsome smile that melted the hearts of many and was present in many members of the Strata family. Oddly, Mara dressed in shapeless flannels and ripped jeans splattered in paint, looking boyish, and to my surprise, she had chopped her hair off until it wisped around her jaw line. Still, she had a childlike charm that enraptured the hearts of many boys.

Having turned thirty just last night, Sabina was radiant with a fullness to her thin body that looked healthy and frankly maternal, having just announced that she was four months pregnant through personalized emails filled with self-indulgent pictures of her and her husband, Sandor, grinning starry-eyed at each other and doing other couple-themed stuff. Sabina ran a popular blog and, when it suited her whim, was planning on opening up collections of home, family, and women's clothing for Strata. As we aged, I could start to see similarities in our features, we both had our father's chiseled jaw, angular greens eyes, and tall frame, although she had bleached her mousy brown to a platinum blonde shade that looked cheap on her. Still, there was magnetism to Sabina, despite her grating personality, and being pregnant seemed to magnify it.

Together, the Strata sisters were somewhat of an unstoppable force, charming, beautiful, and utterly smart.

Nonplussed by my blatant show of immaturity, Mara continued on, counting off her fingers the list of objectives for the day as Sabina spooned miniscule mouthfuls of her breakfast. "First, we're going to the shrine in Ueno Park, there's a special ceremony happening today, I figure it'll be a fun way to start. Next, we'll head straight over to Matsuzakaya department store because," Mara wrinkled her nose disdainfully, "You need more casual clothes."

Having tuned out Mara's voice up until that point, I asked, "What?"

"You need more casual clothes, it's sad that you have to wear your brother-in-law's clothes when he's your subordinate."

Sabina yelped, "Hey!"

Defensively, I chimed in, "Suits are for men of power." My tone became critical as I continued, "Jeans are simpletons and lower class citizens. I refuse to look like a farmer. You know what Father thinks."

Unapologetically, Mara shrugged, "Alright, 'one percent,' just be warned, not all girls like the stuffy suits and upper-class jerkiness that you seem to be rocking."

When I heard her mention the word "girls," I was beset with panic, not wanting anyone (Sabina) to know of Corrine. Sabina has a particular knack for chasing off girls that I'm interested in and frankly, I want to expose Corrine to Sabina, at least not yet. Anxiously, I asked, "What do 'girls' have to do with this matter?"

Mara looked at me oddly, "Well, nothing, I just thought that you'd appreciate knowing what girls like and don't like seeing as how your last relationship was a shipwreck on the Titanic-proportion."

Luckily, Sabina wasn't even paying attention, fluffing her hair whist observing herself in a compact. As comprehension dawned on her, Mara contorted her face to house that wide sly grin of hers.

Irritably, I asked, "What are you grinning about?"

"Oh, nothing." Collected, Mara tossed her hair in a nonchalant manner only to have her hairbrush into her face. Then, she spent the next few seconds spitting out hair that stuck to her lips, making a little show of herself as I laughed. Once her hair was out of her face, Mara perked up, "Oh, Godfrey called up to tell you that you have one meeting before you leave tomorrow. Something about a future collaboration, I don't know, he was kind of dodgy about it. He said that it was at eleven in your office so don't forget."

"I won't but Godfrey…dodgy?"

Mara nodded, perplexed. "Have any idea what he's blathering on about? Some new project?"

Shrugging, I said, "Not a clue, haven't heard a thing, guess I'll find out tomorrow."

Smiling, Sabina cupped her mug of tea, "Good, keep it out of your mind until tomorrow. Today's the day we have fun, just family."

Hmm, something's up if Sabina is being nice and not the least bit narcissistic. I guess I'll have to wait.

* * *

><p>It was a shame the sakura trees weren't in bloom yet. Delicate, soft pink petals cascading through the crisp air, dusting the grass pink. Father used to take Sabina and me to see the flowers bloom in March along with Mother. Actually, it was Mother's idea to visit Ueno Park for the hanami, flower viewing, and to have a picnic as we watched. Since Mother left, Sabina and I rarely go to Ueno Park, sweet memories souring into bitter memories. It was only when Mara was born and grew up, that the two of us went back but only for her. Now, for the first time in ten years, I was staring at the trees of my childhood, withered and naked but still lush with nostalgia.<p>

Bouncing with youth, Mara had already reached the entrance of the shrine located in the center of the park. Sabina, having just turned thirty, and I, a year shy of her, were run ragged by Mara's puppy like energy and settled into a steady stride.

"How can someone so silly be so tireless? I mean there can't be enough room for both." Sabina muttered under her breath.

"It's her specialty, she got it from Bonny."

"That's true." Then, Sabina turned to me, a look of regret painted onto her face, "I've missed you."

Taken aback from her words, I said, "What?"

Just as quickly as it came, Sabina's apologetic expression left. Lifting the fur-trimmed collar of her lavender coat, Sabina said, "I said I missed the way my old hair looks."

I let out a snort. "Then, you should have left it alone and invested in a wig."

"Cha, that'll be the day. Sabina Margolis, practical. It sounds funny just saying it." Changing the subject, Sabina turned to me. "When can I come to visit you in New York?"

"Why would you? I thought you said, and I quote, 'New York isn't even fitting for rats.'"

"So? I'm fickle, anyway, Tokyo's been kind of boring and I want to have my baby born American."

The latter of her statement came out of nowhere and seemed so nonchalant. "Pardon?"

"You heard me. I just want to have my child to have the potential to be the most powerful man on Earth, is that so bad?"

"The way you're phrasing it makes it sound bad."

Just as I said that, we had arrived to the towering shrine. Oddly, the shrine was blocked by several detached wire fences, all scattered around the ground. The fences themselves were covered in all sorts of locks, plastic ones, metal, wooden, in a wide array of colors and sizes. In addition, the locks were scribbled on with black marker, upon closer inspection they were covered in words in all sorts of handwriting.

"Aren't they cool?" Arms akimbo, Mara gushed enthusiastically, her entire body aglow with warmth.

"Yeah. What exactly are they for?"

"You know how my university has some sort of school-wide project every year? Well, a couple friends and I proposed that we get several fences and a couple dozen locks for the students in the school and have them write what they're thankful in life and their hopes as a way to reinforce positivity in life especially since we had finals back then. Well, the local government heard about the project and proposed that we do our project all over Tokyo. It's been successful and our plans for the fences, once we're done, is to replace the old fences put up on the bridge to prevent suicides. So that people who're considering it could look and see reasons to live. We even plan to have the number for a suicide prevention hotline printed onto the fences."

Speechless, I breathed with awe. "Wow."

Smirking proudly, Sabina said, "I know, right? She's been in the news. That's a Strata for you."

Pulling out three locks, Mara said, "Any way, I've been saving these for when we'd all get together. The government is taking away the fences in a couple days and I wanted to do it when nobody else is around."

Taking a lock, Sabina said, "I'll think about what I'm going to write later. It's too cold so I'll be in the car if you need me."

Swaying, Sabina waddled away, tense from the chilly air. Rolling my eyes, I said, "Don't mind her, I'm sure she appreciates it."

Mara replied, "Eh, I know. I'll probably just end up putting it back for her anyway."

Weaving our way through the fences towards the shrine, I asked, "What did Father and Bonny think?"

"You should have seen how happy they were. I don't think I've ever seen Father so proud of me."

Looking down, Mara smiled drily. I knew Father was a bit of a sore spot with her, what with him being as difficult as Sabina and indifferent with Mara and her work. In a sad way, Father always saw Mara as an accident; not wanting any more children after Mother left, and treated Mara as such. Not to mention that they were polar opposites, Mara was as innocent, blissful, and content as a well-fed puppy and Father was a grizzled, aloof, and dissatisfied as a raggedy stray, always attempting to create more success out of Strata Enterprise. He loved all of us but being so consumed with work, he forgot how to interact with his own family. Now that he's retired (forcibly by the handiwork of Bonny), Father spends his days filling out crossword puzzles and taking walks with Bonny, trying to stay sane from the monotony of retirement. To be honest, Father is a confused man without work, it's as if he woke up from a dream and doesn't recognize what is real and what is imagined. Sometimes, he treats Mara like she's a figment of his imagination, brushing her off, and he's never respected Mara's artistry, despite her talent. The fact that he's proud of Mara proved that he's starting to recognize reality.

Embracing her sturdy body, I murmured, "I'm always proud of you. It's time that he starts too."

I could hear Mara's voice waver for a moment. "Aw shucks. Come on, let's vandalize some locks."

As we settled onto the stone steps of the shrine's entrance, suddenly, Corrine popped up in my mind. It was strange, how far apart we've been. We haven't even had our first date yet and then there's that stupid time I hung up on her. It's just that I was with Sabina at that time in some seedy pub that Sandor had dragged us to and I couldn't let Sabina get any sort of hint that I was seeing someone. After Megan, Rosalie, Rebecca, Lana, Angelica, and Jane, Sabina had rather established her role as a terrorist towards anyone who was remotely interested in me; surprisingly and yet unsurprisingly, Sabina spared Sasha, even befriending her. Not to mention the amount of dirt she found on all of them, that Sabina was ruthless and pretty well versed in terrorizing. I didn't want Sabina to find a new victim out of Corrine especially since I can actually see a substantial relationship with her. Although since I sent that revoltingly rude text, I wouldn't expect it to happen. Stupidly, I thought that I was so noble in sparing Corrine late-night phone calls, due to our thirteen-hour time distance, and the idea of meeting/knowing about my family so soon. Now, I feel too stupid and witless to call her or text her. There wasn't a time in these past few weeks that I haven't thought of Corrine as horridly cheesy as that sounds. There will be times in meetings that suddenly I'll think I saw Corrine or wonder what Corrine was doing at that moment, not to mention the late nights spent laying restless in bed, thinking about how much I missed her smile, the soft comfort of her arms, how beautiful she is when her eyes sparkle, lips grin, and her cheeks redden. And her laugh alone makes me warm up within. I couldn't wait to see her again; I'm practically bursting with anticipation.

"Um, Dominic?"

As I snapped out of my reverie, I noticed that I had written everything I was thinking all over the lock and onto my arm. Embarrassed, I rubbed at the slick marker stains, staining them even further into my skin. "Are these permanent?"

Pulling a wet nap from her bag, Mara laughed as she wiped up my arm. Then, she asked, "Who is she?"

"Whatever could you mean?"

"I know a man in love, or at least a man that thinks he's in love."

"She's the girl that soaked Sasha with wine that night at Mario's."

"Ooh, someone who knows what she wants. I like her already." Mara hated pretty, but bland airheads, the type I typically pursued. Sasha, particularly, was the target of Mara's vitriol.

"Her name is Corrine and every time I think of her, the world seems brighter, the stars shine more brilliantly."

"And she inspires poetry out of Casanova. I'm impressed. Does she make wine out of water too?"

"Oh ha ha, very funny."

"All kidding aside, do you think she could be the 'one?'"

I paused. "I don't know yet but the way I feel about her makes me hope so."

Nodding her head understandingly, Mara handed me her blank lock. "Here, I want you to use this lock too. I figure if anyone needs hope in love, it's you. I don't want to see you hurt again, not as badly as she left you."

My body clenched up at the thought of "her" and my stomach felt knotted in pain.

Kissing Mara's forehead, I thanked her as I walked off to get some privacy. Why did Mara have to mention her? Now, she's all I see. Even thousands of miles away, Isabella haunts me. In vain, I try to remember Corrine and everything I liked about her but all I could see was "her." Corrine's sparkling eyes are replaced by Bella's warm honey eyes; Corrine's teeth-and-gums grin is eclipsed by Bella's quiet, gentle smile; Corrine's rosy cheeks are substituted with Bella's bronzy glowing cheekbones. Painfully, I can't see Corrine; all I see is Isabella and I want her.

* * *

><p>Blimey, Godfrey better have a good reason for being so dodgy about this meeting. It's eleven in the morning and for once, the sun is shining with warmth on this otherwise dreary winter day. Even when I called him, Godfrey sounded fidgety and vague. He muttered and sputtered something about collaboration with a cosmetics company. For the love of me, I couldn't even imagine anyone let alone any company that'd want to partner up with Strata Enterprise considering the obscurity of the boutiques in America. Sure, the ones in Manhattan were wildly popular and gaining traction but the others scattered in Los Angeles and Miami were startlingly quiet. In fact, one of the reasons I was stuck in Tokyo was to address that problem and ones of expansion and accessibility.<p>

Upon entering the tenth floor where my office was located, I was greeted by Eileen, my personal assistant. Like Godfrey, she seemed nervous and fidgety. Handing me a cup of matcha tea, Eileen brushed off the crumbs from my breakfast toast on my suit jacket.

"Morning Mr. Strata, your eleven 'o clock is here and already seated in your office. She'll explain the rest to you."

Handing the emptied cup back to Eileen, I thanked her and strode towards my office. Through the glass partition of the office, I could see my appointment was with a dark haired woman, shiny hair pulled back into a neat up do.

As I entered the office, I said apologetically, "My apologies for my tardiness. I hope you understand and don't allow this to affect your perception of my professionalism."

"Nicky, you don't have to talk to me like that." At the sound of her voice, a chill climbed down my back and reluctantly, I raised my head to meet her eyes.

"Fuck." whispered I as I faced Isabella Faille, my ex-wife of six years.

In her normally soft voice, Isabella said, "I know. I didn't want to meet this way either."

I could feel all the anger I repressed for years bubbling back to the surface. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Please, Nicky. Can't we just be adults?"

"Don't call me that. You don't get to call me that, not anymore."

A look of hurt flashed on Isabella's pretty features. "I'm just here for business."

Then, I remembered. She was executive vice president of marketing for Bella Cosmetics, her father's company. Of course, she was here on business.

In response, I glared stonily at her.

"Look, both our boards are on board with this collaboration, Strata's boutiques could use a big name like 'Bella' and Bella could use a wider fan base outside of teenagers. It's a win-win situation. My board sent me to talk to you so that you wouldn't be ambushed by yours. Honestly, this deal is going ahead with or without you, I'm just here to let you know that we'll be seeing a lot more of each other in the future."

Flabbergasted at the idea of my board going behind my back, including Sandor, a close friend, I was at a loss for words.

Sliding a pile of papers across my mahogany desk, Isabella stood up from her seat, revealing a swollen stomach. "It's obviously a mistake for us to have even meet up. I hoped that we were past everything."

At the sight of her pregnant stomach, I felt the knot in my stomach twist even more. It was true there was something different about her appearance, Isabella was glowing, like Sabina was, with pregnancy.

A voice croaked out of me, "Are you pregnant?"

With one hand on the door, Isabella turned to look at me, pity and sorrow apparent in her eyes. Nodding her head, Isabella whispered before leaving, "Yes."

At that point, all I could see was black.

* * *

><p>"Sir, are you sure you want to go here?" Parking the town car, Godfrey looked at me worriedly.<p>

I didn't answer him simply because I couldn't. Every time I opened my mouth, no words would leave. White noise fizzled in my ears as I slumped against the buttery leather seat.

It took all the effort to muster a simple head nod.

At least I no longer saw the darkness. Instead, all I saw was her, glowing and filled with pity. I would do anything to get that image out of my head.

Rain splattered against the darkened window opposite of me. I was already soaked to the chilling bone, standing in the relentless rain as I waited for Godfrey to pick me up from the airport. The minute we entered the car, I said one word. Corrine. Godfrey looked at me curiously before saying something about letting me rest from jet lag. After that point, the white noise filtered out his voice until we arrived to the building she lived in.

Opening the door, I lumbered out of the car, rain permeating my clothing and my hair again. Buzzing on the button of her apartment number, I waited as her voice crackled impatiently, telling me to wait. There I stood; the ground underneath me shattered, the next step would cause everything to collapse.

Abruptly, the entrance of the building opened, engulfing me in golden light.

Corrine looked at me in shock. She looked pretty, dressed in a strappy blue dress with her auburn hair piled on top of her head.

"Dominic, what are you doing out here?" Gently, she grasped my arm in concern, at which point my knees gave out.

Collapsing into her arms, her soft, warm arms, I could feel my cheeks grow wet with salty, bitter tears. The weight of me, suddenly collapsing against her, sent Corrine sprawling backwards onto the ground along with me.

Before Corrine could ask anything, I mashed my lips against hers. My hands grabbed hungrily at her face, cupping her jaw roughly and forcing her face against mine. I just needed to feel something; something that let me know that I am real, not a figment, that I matter in this universe no matter how small. I needed to see something else other than Isabella.

A moment later, Corrine shoved me off her, confusion burning in her eyes. It was obvious she pitied me in my sorry crazed state. Hauling me up, Corrine opened the door of the building as I leaned against her unsteadily. Looking at her, I finally could see something else other than Isabella and the darkness faded just a bit more. Somehow, that darn lock actually worked.

* * *

><p><strong>Whew, kinda a rough chappie, eh? Dominic's got plenty of baggage when it comes to love and I'll get to the dirty details in due time. Also, to Kittycat: thanks for your input, I appreciate it. :) It's always nice to hear some feedback and I try to apply it as well as I can to my writing.<strong>

** Anyway, I do realize some of the things I add seem minor but they'll come up in the story later too. To be honest, I don't really want this story to be any longer than I'm making it (approx 30-40 chapters) but please keep in mind that I write 9-13 pages for most chapters, which accounts for the length of the story as a whole, and that my pacing isn't going to be rapid fire action-on-action. However, I do write each chapter with a purpose, whether it's character or plot development, it has to count for something or I won't put it through. I do ask that my readers are patient when a seemingly filler chappie happens. **

**Anyway, next time will be Myra's engagement party. Will it be a disaster of epic proportions or an actual (*gasp*) success? What will happen between Dominic and Corrine after that little incident? **

**Estimated time for next update: a few weeks, no promises [sorry :( ]. **


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